


Till It's Over

by Alejado



Series: You've Got Time [3]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Adventure, Alcohol, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Canon-Typical Violence, Families of Choice, Fluff, Gratuitous Tea Drinking, Humor, Space Bikes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23951968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alejado/pseuds/Alejado
Summary: The City stands, and then it doesn't.  It takes more than one person to save the world.
Series: You've Got Time [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568263
Comments: 20
Kudos: 34





	1. Prologue: Those Hazy Days

Summer in the hills  
Those hazy days I do remember  
We were running still  
Had the whole world at our feet  
Watching seasons change  
Our roads were lined with adventure  
Mountains in the way  
Couldn't keep us from the sea

Monody - TheFatRat

* * *

**From the Audio Recordings from Azra Jax:**

2951-05-24 

Azra Jax: But I know what it's like, being alone in the Dark for so long. And I saw the horror at Mare Ibrium.

Eris Morn: Perhaps you do. You echo like water blind in the night.

AJ: And you stink like a Hive Wizard. Like them brittle half-rotten leaves you find in caves when the rain washes them in. But you still feel like Eris.

AJ: You have any questions, you need help, or an advocate, you come to me.

AJ: The future is a confusing place. You don't need to walk it alone.

* * *

2951-07-29 

Sulla: Azra!

Azra Jax: This is the only chance we'll have to map some of these things!

Sylas-4: Let it go, Azra. This place will not exist for much longer if we survive.

S4: If we don't, then your data will be lost.

AJ: But…

Veera: It's a choice. This, or the City?

AJ: …Alright.

* * *

2953-02-12 

Sulla: All of this… you fighting alongside the Fallen, taking orders from one, even…

Azra Jax: I don't trust Variks even as far as I can throw him. Queen Mara Sov, less so. But they're going after the _Vault_ , Sulla. There are worse things out there than a rogue Eliksni.

S: I just hope you know what you're getting into.

* * *

2954-06-06 

Tevis Larsen: I swear if you pull that same bullshit you did with Andal on me…

Azra Jax: This time I get to say bye, at least.

AJ: Oh, goodbye, by the way.

TL: You're a pain in the ass. I'll be glad to be rid of you.

AJ: Say hi to Andal for me.

* * *

2954-06-30 

Cayde-6: What happened? Everything alright?

Ghost: Why wouldn't we be alright? We're just stuck here with no ship and no transmat zone.

C6: Great. Told you my stealth drive would work.

C6: Alright, I'd like to tell you the strength of the City is behind you, but as long as that Dreadnaught's still firing we can't risk reinforcements. Head inside, see if you can find whatever's powering that weapon.

Azra Jax: Hey, this is completely uncharted territory, isn't it?

Veera: What are you talking about.

AJ: Just saying, if it's new, we get to name it. Hunter laws.

AJ: Like this chamber. Before, it was just a chamber. Now it's the chamber of Cayde's Big Head.

V: CoCBH. I like it.

C6: Hey, you can't do that! I call foul!

* * *

2955-02-04 

Azra Jax: Veera made me promise to come back and explain, instead of doing that thing where I make people uncomfortable so they stop asking questions.

Saladin Forge: Explain, then.

AJ: I… I don't think I'm a good fit for the Iron Lords. I didn't pick 'Azra' 'cause I thought it would sound good with 'Lady' in front of it.

SF: You deserve it. I have seen you grow, Guardian. I've had my eye on you since Twilight Gap. You are someone I would be proud to call a comrade.

AJ: I don't want it. I never wanted to be a legend, or a savior.

SF: I'm afraid it's too late for that.

* * *

2956-11-02 

Veera: Do you remember the first time we met?

Azra Jax: Hoo boy. That was a rough time.

V: You spilled soup on yourself.

AJ: You took about three seconds to start babbling.

V: What would have happened if I had never approached you?

AJ: I don't deal with 'what if's. They don't have resale value.

V: Back then, did you ever imagine we would be where we are today?

AJ: Honestly? No.

V: But here we are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! I'm certainly not done with this, but at least I know where it's going. This will be a continuation of the story from You've Got Time.
> 
> Some of these snippets might be from yet-uncompleted chapters of The Nights that Never Die. That will continue to be updated as well. Having two different projects (or one project and one sprawling mass of smaller projects) really helps stave off writer's block.


	2. In the Streets

And in the streets the children screamed  
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed  
But not a word was spoken  
The church bells all were broken

And the three men I admire most  
The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost  
They caught the last train for the coast  
The day the music died

American Pie – Don McLean

* * *

May 07, 2957; The Last City, Earth

It was pure chance Azra was in the City that day. Chance! Later, she would look back and wonder, perhaps, at fate. Out of all of the nights they could have chosen, the Cabal picked one of the rare ones she spent within the walls. Her ship needed repairs, and there was a gunsmith that Shiro had insisted she visit…

And then it started raining. Not a big deal, but big enough to make her consider spending the night indoors instead of Sparrowing off to find shelter outside the Wall. She and Cayde went out for dinner. Then he was called away by some sensor malfunction, and Azra thought to get some Dawning shopping done early.

She was inside a shop, actually, when the Tower exploded. She was too familiar with the sound of far-off ordinance. It didn't even track first that something was unusual- she noticed the telltale rumbles, distinct in tenor from the thunder, and dismissed the sound as not immediately important. It was miles away.

The mismatch didn't hit her until she looked up to ask the shopkeeper a question. He was staring out the window in concern. Azra watched the confusion on his face melt into fear as a particularly loud salvo rolled in, rattling the windows and shaking dust out of the ceiling.

_Wait_ , she thought, _artillery in the City?_

The room was full of startled faces. That told the story enough. Azra simply dropped the necklace she'd been admiring and bolted for the door.

The narrow street blocked her view of the sky. She made for the roof. Everything was slick with rain, but it could not stop her scaling window ledges and balconies. She pulled herself up on the peaked surface.

There was fire in the distance. It wasn't the defenses that were hit, not right off the bat. The Tower itself was still under a barrage of missiles. The explosions flashed like heat-lightning in the clouds of smoke. The actual lightning flickered, revealing the harsh outlines of Cabal ships hidden in the storm clouds. The bombs just kept rolling in, wave after wave. Anti-aircraft fire was beginning to fill the air now, golden traces lancing across the brown-gray darkness.

It always seemed to be like this. Peace held and held and held until it just shattered, and you went from a normal day to the world turned on its head with startling speed. Everything had been quiet. It had been peaceful. Now the Cabal were attacking the Tower, and attacking it _successfully_.

Azra was nothing if not quick on the uptake. She took stock. There were people in the streets. Before the walkways had been nearly empty because of the rain. The explosions had brought everyone out of their structures and filled the spaces with jostling and yelling. Confusion reigned. Azra spared a last glance for the Tower, which was now starting to burn.

Then she turned her eyes back down and fired her Sidearm twice in the air. It did the trick to get the crowd's attention.

"Hey!" she shouted in the sudden (relative) silence. "Head for your evacuation points." She tried to put as much authority into her words as she could.

"We're evacuating?" one of the civilians asked. He was an Exo, teal and red.

"Maybe," Azra said. "They're more defensible than _this_ place, anyway. Headstarts are good."

"But what if-"

A Human woman interrupted him. "Don't you recognize who that is? When Kingslayer Azra Jax tells me to evacuate, I'm evacuating!" There were mumbles of consent among the crowd. A Thresher careening overhead lit a fire underneath everyone's rears. The street was clear in a matter of minutes.

"I miss when they just called me Wayfarer," Azra griped. "At least we managed to head off that Lady Jax thing Saladin was trying." She stood up as soon as the Thresher's wake stilled, eyes turned upwards once more. Here and there, craft were beginning to break through the defenses. There was some giant 6-pointed device being moved over the Wall.

How had they not seen this coming?

* * *

" _Darn," Cayde said, sitting back suddenly. He held out a hand for his Ghost. Azra started eating faster. Interruptions usually meant an end to dinner._

_Sure enough, after a few moment's conference with his Ghost, Cayde stood up. "Ahh, some sensor malfunction's got the brass in a tizzy. I've been recalled."_

_Azra's mouth was full of noodles, so she nodded in silent sympathy. Cayde gathered his things and nodded one last goodbye. Azra's eyes flickered to his half-eaten bowl._

_He smiled. "Wouldn't want it to go to waste."_

* * *

The network was already crashing, lagging out and throwing up connection errors every few seconds. But they didn't need the network; they were in ping range.

* * *

AJ: Hey, wtf is up with all the Cabal ships?

C6: Where are you?

AJ: Ridgeback district. I was shopping. Got all the civilians evacuating now.

C6: Good. Heard from anyone else?

She pinged Shiro, but the messaged bounced. Too far.

AJ: No. Hell of a time for a sensor malfunction. Shiro's out of range for me too.

C6: Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. He'll miss the party.

AJ: Any orders, boss?

C6: Keep evacuating civilians. You're too far to make a run for the Tower.

AJ: You see the giant-ass capitol ship? And that star thingy?

C6: Zavala's got Veera on that job.

* * *

The issue was, the Cabal ships were hindering the evacuation effort. The City's anti-aircraft guns didn't face inwards, so once they cleared the Wall, the Threshers and Dropships buzzed unhindered like flies over the streets. Fat, red, Cabal-infested flies.

They had enough Guardians fighting the Cabal in the streets, and Azra knew how to short out Thresher engines (you had to Arc-kick them in the just the right spot). Most pilots flying evacuation craft were perfectly willing to let her jump out of their holds after they took off.

It was a little too fun. Drop, maneuver to hit the Thresher, wait until its trajectory takes it over an empty street, short out the relays in one of the engines, jump off at the last second, kill any Cabal that survive, head back to an evacuation point, hitch a ride, repeat.

She would have been having a grand old time, but the views were… worrying. The City was on fire. The air was choked with craft desperately dodging missiles, hovering low over plazas and courtyards before speeding off again. The Cabal had secured the giant, 6-pointed star-shaped thing on the Traveler. The Capitol ship loomed ever closer.

But it wasn't Azra's job to deal with that. It was her job to evacuate and kick Cabal butt. The Red Legion had made a good push, but their position was untenable. In the shadow of the Traveler, there was nothing that could keep a Guardian down for long (excepting the death of their Ghost). And there were _so many_ Guardians. They were everywhere, flying ships, sweeping the streets, kicking Cabal Threshers out of the air.

Okay, maybe that last one was just her.

She was worried, but not too worried. She focused on what she was doing and left the larger-scale things to the Vanguard. If they needed her, they'd call. That's what she told herself.

The rain continued, slowing the spread of fires. Explosions shook the air.

Azra didn't have attention to focus on the Traveler. She was too busy trying to keep the streets clear, downing Threshers, scattering squads of Cabal before they had a chance to link up. She spared a glance now and again, but just a glance.

Until suddenly, the world was bathed in orange light. Whatever the Cabal had been building, whatever they'd been doing to the Traveler, it was finished. Veera was supposed to have stopped that. She hadn't gotten her job done. Azra hunkered down (the ship she was on was wet, but there were handholds), and _stared_. A cage of fire-red spread over the pearlescent, broken sphere above them.

And then…

And then.

* * *

_They gasp in a breath. Life, just enough of it, drives the air out, and then back in. Alone. The two of them are alone._

* * *

_But it's not just that, because she's gone numb. Blind, deaf, dumb. Her eyes can see the scratched metal of the ship beneath her, her legs can feel gravity pressing it up against her feet, but it seems fake and unreal. Like pictures on a screen. Like someone had removed all the lenses from a scope. Everything is Dark. She can't even feel her Ghost…_

_Spark! Where is Spark?_

The ship chose that moment to roll, and Azra fell. She instinctively reached out for the Light to slow her descent, but there was just nothing there. She couldn't even feel how far away the ground was, but it couldn't be far…

A different set of instincts snapped into place. Her eyes flew open, and she spun in midair, so she could-

She landed feet-first with an enormous jolt. Her body automatically turned the motion into a roll to dissipate the momentum. Pain bloomed in her right ankle, muted by adrenaline and shock. She ended up in an undignified heap, but alive. She was alive.

Her next thought was of her Ghost. She cast about frantically, but without her Lightsense, she might as well have been blind. There was nothing, nothing but rubble and broken glass and flame and smoke and the sound of gunfire rattling overhead…

_Breathe,_ she told herself. She closed her eyes, but the sensory deprivation of darkness in the Dark was too much for her. They snapped back open, heart pounding in her ears.

_Okay then, just focus on yourself._ Her hands were shaking but responsive as she squeezed them into fists. The visor on her helmet was cracked. Her entire right side ached from the fall. She felt her shoulder first. The smallest motion sent jolts of pain from the joint, radiating through her chest. Probably dislocated. Her ankle, on the other hand (or foot), was most certainly broken. It wouldn't support her weight. Her armor had protected her from cuts, but her hip and elbow were probably going to be bruised…

A missile went streaking by overhead, drawing her attention back to the outside world. She needed to hide. Her first attempt at standing up resulted in her on the ground again, clutching at her ankle with tears in her eyes. _Well, if you can't walk, then crawl. Find cover first._

She was in an intersection between two footpaths. The buildings towered above her. _One of the residential districts. Deserted. Evacuated?_ But without Spark's maps, she had no real way of knowing exactly where.

The thought of her lost Ghost almost made her cry again. That space in her head was just… empty. She'd never been so alone before. Azra bit the inside of her cheek, willing herself to move. She couldn't find Spark if she died now. (He wasn't gone. He couldn't be gone. He was just missing.) With grim determination, she dragged herself towards the nearest alley. It was open to the sky above, but it also had a dumpster with a lid. On two knees and a hand, the going was slow. A third of the way there, an explosion rocked the ground and sent her sprawling. She picked herself back up again.

And just for a second, between the laborious breaths she counted in her head, between the beats of her heart, she felt… something. A small cinder of light. A firefly in the mist. A tiny winkling star only caught in the periphery of her vision.

A Spark.

It was gone before she could even really feel it, but her eyes darted to where it came from. And she saw him, resting as part of a pile of rubble. She gathered her good leg underneath herself and lunged towards her Ghost just as another explosion sent bits of glass and burnt matter raining down around her.

Before the ground even stopped shaking, her air filter crapped out. Choking, she threw her helmet off, only to gag at the acrid and smoke-filled air. Her eyes watered (not entirely from the atmosphere) as she carefully prized her Ghost out of the debris.

He was… inert. There was no moving, no whirring or clicking (or dial-up tones), but the light in his eye still flickered dimly.

Cabal speech echoed from a loudspeaker somewhere. She had no time to sit and wonder. Spark went into the helmet and she desperately (now with hope restored) made her way to the dumpster. She hopped on her left leg, every movement sending pain through her shoulder and ankle. She fell thrice, certainly earning herself more bruises, but ultimately getting her to her goal. As a Cabal ship roared by overhead, she prized open the lid, tossed Spark in, then heaved her tired and shaking body into the box.

She hit the bottom with a bang and a cry of pain. The lid slammed shut above her, blocking out most of the light and rain. The bins had been emptied recently, leaving plenty of space for her among the piles of garbage. She thanked the Traveler (and the construction company, as a second thought) for the new and sturdy lid which had kept out most of the weather. The bottom was dry. She took a second to just lie still and breathe, listening to the rumble of the Cabal ship fading. Then she pulled herself into a sitting position.

First things first. She grabbed Spark with her good hand and scooted into a corner. The corner of the dumpster wasn't much more cover than the middle of the dumpster, but it was something. She turned her Ghost this way and that, noting the scars and scratches on his chassis, but relieved to see his core was undamaged. Just dark.

If he couldn't help her, she'd just have to do things the old-fashioned way. Unlike a lot of Guardians, she knew how to do things the old-fashioned way. Mare Ibrium and the Vault had taught her well in that regard. As carefully as she could, she pulled her vest and gauntlets off. In normal circumstances she'd just cut them away to spare further injury, but without Spark to mend them again, she had to conserve what resources she had.

(In normal circumstances, Spark would have been able to fix her shoulder without removing the garments at all.)

The armor finally off, she took a second to catch her breath again. The cold metal of the box stung through the thin undershirt she wore. She didn't need to take that off to tell that the shoulder was definitely dislocated. That wouldn't normally be a relief, but considering the state of her Ghost and her ankle, it was. She could take care of a dislocated shoulder.

She moved to lay on her back on the cold metal floor, staring up through the gap in the dumpster lid. She knew better than to close her eyes this time. She quieted her thoughts and reached out to where the Void normally was. There was no response and no Bow sparked to life in her upturned palm, but she managed to draw a sense of calm over herself. Pain throbbed through her body, but she stepped away from it, holding it apart from her mind. Her muscles relaxed. It was as if the injuries had happened to someone else. Slowly, inch by inch, she moved her right elbow upwards, keeping her breathing easy. She moved it past ninety degrees, then further, her lightly curled fist coming around the top of her head. Then…

The joint popped back into place with a brief flash of pain, and blessed relief flooded her nerves. Moving carefully still, she sat up and pulled the grips and vest back on. They were pretty beat-up, but better than nothing. They at least kept the chill out. Dumpsters weren't the warmest of places, and with her Light gone, Azra felt like a leaf trembling in the autumn wind.

Her ankle, next. The boot almost wouldn't come off around the swollen joint, but boots were important. If she wasn't going to cut her vest, she certainly wouldn't wreck the boots. Several prolonged seconds of painful tugging, and it finally gave.

"What do you think, Spark?" She whispered. Her Ghost had that funny way of reassuring her of injuries that sounded like a world-weary physician. Now he sat silent on the ground next to her. "Just a sprain, or a hairline fracture to the Lateral Malleolus?" She saw nothing obviously wrong with the ankle (besides the swelling), but it hurt a lot. "Best just to splint it, then?"

Great, five minutes into this ordeal and she was already talking to herself. She grumbled something even she couldn't make out and began searching through the garbage for something to brace her ankle with. Two broken chair legs, a towel, and some strips cut from a curtain later and she had a satisfactory splint. She couldn't walk on it, but if she managed to find something to use as crutches, she could…

What? Hobble out of the city? Hop around on one leg kicking Cabal butt with a freshly re-located shoulder and no (working) Ghost? It would be days, weeks before she could stand on her ankle unaided. Guardians healed faster than the average human, even without a Ghost's intervention, but that was before this mess.

A bit of despair came over her then, coupled with a crash from the adrenaline wearing off and the shock from her injuries. She just felt so tired. She finished a makeshift sling for her arm and leaned back on the corner of the dumpster, Spark gripped in her good hand. Rain began to patter more fiercely against the plastic shield above her. The last hour seemed to have taken years, though it hadn't been _that_ long since she'd fallen from the ship.

A heaviness came over her limbs. Azra told herself she'd just rest for a bit, then…

* * *

_Darkness spreads before you. It surrounds you, choking you, taking all hope, everything that makes you real. You struggle. It doesn't make a difference, but you struggle._

_Then something breaks the surface of the water. A flash. An orb of pure white shines out in the dark. Bits of light cast around it like cinders shaken from a fire, like a cloud of lightning bugs. There's a noise like glass breaking, and the Darkness is pushed back all at once. The sun returns, bright in the pale blue sky._

_The orb settles into a valley between great mountains. Slowly, huts erect themselves beneath it. They turn into houses, then buildings. Fires wink in and out like heat lightning from a distance. Structures grow, blooming upwards towards the sky like grass shoots. Battles ebb and flow along unseen lines. A wall forms._

_Miles-4 casts you a look behind a mirrored helmet and hands you a submachine gun._

**Humanity must have protectors.**

_Andal Brask squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. He presses a knife to your throat._

**Will you stand with me?**

_You're alone in the mists. You run. A boulder looms before you, but there isn't time to go around. You try to jump it, but you don't get high enough. Your knees catch the edge and you tumble to the ground. The coals of a campfire smolder next to your landing place. You're alone. You stand and look down at the fire, and the coals form a strange circular pattern. It burns into your mind. You're alone. You're not supposed to be alone…_

**We have come so far, but there is farther still to go.**

_The Darkness presses close again, but a dim Light shimmers ahead. It's much too far away to reach, but you try anyway, straining. Your reaching brings it closer, somehow, until all at once you're standing on a cliff of white rock. The sun shines over the waves ahead of you, and more light than just its reflection glows up from beneath the waters._

* * *

She woke with a start, but her body knew better than to jump or thrash. The rain had slowed, if only to let the distant sounds of battle ring louder. It took her a few seconds to remember what had happened. She was still in the dumpster, still relatively dry, and her ankle still hurt like a bitch.

It took Azra a moment to place what had woken her, and her heart soared when she saw Spark hovering a foot to her left. Their connection was hazy, and his eye was dim, but he was there.

"I thought I'd lost you," Azra choked out. The Light wasn't there, even as she quested for it in her mind, but at least she had her Ghost back.

Spark's voice was faint as a whisper. "I can heal you a little, but I don't think I can bring you back if you die. Azra, the Traveler, it's… gone dark."

The horror of that was a little too much to wrestle with at the moment. She set it aside. "First things first, Little Light. We can't go undo what's been done until we do what we need to do first."

"You're sounding more like Andal every day," Spark quipped back, a little miffed at the hated nickname. His shell was askew and he trembled on unsteady lifters, but his spirits rose some. "This old drill, then. I might not have enough to fix all of you. What should I do first?"

They'd done this in the Vault, many times. The Light was dim there, so they'd had to prioritize…

"My ankle, first. Gotta run to survive."

He scanned the joint, clicking to himself. "A through-and-through fracture of the Lateral Malleolus. How'd you get so banged up, anyway? I can't remember anything since-" He trailed off. Apparently, the memory was too fresh for both of them. He got to work on the ankle. Azra's fists first clenched, then relaxed as the bone regenerated.

"I fell off the ship we were on. We weren't too high, but…" She flexed and pointed her toe when Spark was finished, little tingles of pain jumping out. The muscles and tendons were still stretched or strained. But they had to conserve what energy they could. "My shoulder, next? I relocated it but shooting a rifle might screw it up again."

Spark diligently went to work on her shoulder, then her lungs (smoke inhalation was a chore to deal with), then spent the last of his energy repairing the filter on her helmet. Their mental link was still too muddled to communicate more than vague ideas, so they had to talk in hushed tones. Twice a troop of Cabal went through the plaza, making them both huddle, afraid and quiet, in the corner of what Azra was now affectionately calling _their_ dumpster. She even tagged the inside with a half-empty can of spray paint she scavenged.

Then, even Azra had to admit, it was time to go. Spark had picked up new rendezvous coordinates for the evacuation, and Light or no, she was going to help with that.

The hunted state of mind was one she slipped back into almost too easily. No Light, no Lightsense, no extra ammo. A little harsher than the Vault in some ways, but easier in others. She had all of the resources of the City at her disposal if she could scrounge them up. Material. Food.

Maybe allies.


	3. Born From Heartbreak

Deep inside these burning buildings voices die to be heard  
Years we spent teaching a lesson we ourselves had never learned  
And if strength in born from heartbreak, then mountains I could move  
If walls could speak, I pray that they would tell me what to do

Drones – Rise Against

* * *

Four hours after the attack; the Last City, Earth

Azra was crouched in a storm sewer when the broadcast came through. It was powerful. Spark whispered about the ingenuity of the method- sending a primary signal to overwrite the Cabal-controlled relays to send a brief audio clip- as he recorded it.

They paused, listening for any noise that could indicate a Cabal patrol nearby. Nothing but rainfall and the sound of wreckage burning greeted them. The ordinance had died down for the most part.

Spark played the message. Zavala's baritone was immediately familiar. "Citizens of the Last City. Hear my words." The voice was whisper-soft and tinny. The speakers in Azra's helmet had been blown out in her fall. "We are abandoning the City. We have evacuated everyone we could, but the Cabal now hunt Guardians in the streets. If you are able, you should make for the wilds."

Azra took it with grim acceptance. It wasn't exactly new information, after all.

Zavala continued. "The Cabal have affixed a device to the Traveler and severed our connection to the Light. We cannot hold the City, and we cannot protect you." Truth, but truth would not stop her from trying. She was a Guardian, yes, but she was also an excellent fighter. She understood well how those traits were separate. A lifetime of dying taught her how to fight without getting hurt. A lifetime in the Dark had taught her a deadly sort of caution. She knew how to fight without the Light bolstering her.

"We are setting a rally point elsewhere in the system," Zavala continued, "watch for a broadcast. We will return to the City someday, but… I do not know when." A pause. "Be safe. Be brave."

Azra crouched in her cover a moment longer. There was hope. Somewhere out there, the Vanguard was planning for the future. People would gather, consolidate, and eventually take back the City.

Azra couldn't live for that right now. She had to focus on the next minutes, the next hours. Her thoughts needed to be of Cabal patrols and the sound of her footsteps. She couldn't distract herself with thoughts of far-off war camps and overarching strategies.

She hugged her cloak tight around herself and moved on. There'd been a friendly ping a few blocks northward. Time to see if it was a trap.

* * *

Two days after the attack; the Last City, Earth

It never quite stopped raining.

At worst, the storm was an all-out downpour. At best, it was just a few droplets pattering on the asphalt. But two days after the assault on the Tower it was still raining.

Azra was damp. Dirt and soot were ground into her armor, turning her already grayish-green getup even grayer. The perpetual rainfall and the sensation of utter Darkness were familiar in a way that filled Azra's gut with dread. It was so Vault-like. She was jumpy and stressed, always a hair's breadth from violence, and it wasn't even because of the Cabal.

The Cabal were worthy of her stress, though. The streets were full of bodies and she had very nearly been one of them. The enemy had brought overwhelming force. Without her Light, Azra had no choice but to hide and watch the patrols go by. The City burned.

She was in terrified awe of the strength, but she also noted the weaknesses. It was what she had been trained to do. The Cabal's sweeps were regular, predictable. They took the same routes at the same times, never stopping to investigate or listen. They made not even the barest attempt at stealth. Azra saw overconfidence there, and complacency. She took advantage of it at every opportunity. The Cabal were easy to outsmart, easy to hide from and easy to hear coming. But as Azra constantly reminded herself, it only took one mistake now.

The hours passed in a blur. There were still civilians who hadn't been evacuated. She gave directions, water, and food when she could. The Cabal had gained air superiority, so any escapes from the City had to happen on foot. Even those became more and more perilous as the Cabal strengthened their perimeter on the Wall.

Those who couldn't run, she helped hide. There were a few emergency shelters undiscovered by the Cabal. Occasionally clumps of survivors managed to escape notice in maglev stations or in the stormwater system. Azra directed refugees towards them, not knowing what else to do. She knew every person she sent put a larger strain on their resources and made it more likely the Cabal would find them. But what other choice did she have? Let them die on the street, alone and afraid?

Other Guardians were sparse. Many, many had died in the initial moments and hours of lost Light. Most of the rest had evacuated. Those left were the incapacitated, the lost, and a small fraction determined to keep the civilian evacuation efforts running. Even those were dwindling hour by hour, day by day as the Cabal consolidated their power in the City.

Once, Azra came across a Warlock with a broken leg amongst another group of survivors. It took everything within Spark, and Azra, and the Warlock _and_ his Ghost to mend the hopelessly splintered bone. It left Azra dizzy and short of breath for half a day, but at least the Warlock could walk again. She counted it lucky. Not everything was so easy to fix. Not everyone had a Ghost and Azra was no miracle worker. Sometimes a hand to hold and a quick end were all she could offer.

However sorely she wanted to, she didn't have time or strength to move the dead. And there were a lot of dead. Dehydration and injury and Cabal ate away at the City's remaining populous like the fires ate at the City's remaining structures.

Hours dragged on into days. Spark and Azra made new maps of the City, sometimes overlaid on their standard Vanguard one, sometimes overwritten and re-drawn where rubble heaps or parked ships turned the grid-like streets into a convoluted mess. They didn't have many people to share with. The civilians often didn't have any Ghost-compatible technology, much less displays to read from. They helped her to plan, though. The maps grew and grew as she added in Cabal patrols and moved further afield in search of survivors and supplies.

Azra rarely shared her name. She had no time for fame, and less for the overconfidence it brought. Without the Light, she was no Iron Lord or Kingslayer. She was just another Hunter, if taught in a harsher school than most.

Azra knew this ground well. This story was written into her very bones. She was used to living in Darkness. It settled over her like a worn cloak, a familiar load. She knew exactly how her breath would seize if she reached for the non-existent Arc, how trying to dredge Solar would make her dizzy. She knew how to be careful.

The biggest personal blow was the loss of her Lightsense. It was always a heart-pounding moment now to come around a corner. It was a good thing the Cabal were neither quiet nor observant. She covered her weapons in soot to mask any gleam of reflection, tied down or cut off any loose ends, rarely slept except in the most abandoned and tucked-away spots. She spent what time not dedicated to supply runs and evacuation to gathering intel. It wasn't much use; she was just too ground-level. All the Cabal plans were happening on their ships, hundreds of feet in the air.

Guardian signals were easily tracked by the Cabal. Attempting to connect to the Net was gambling with her life. She did it anyway. It never had any results. There were a hundred dead transmissions, looping desperate pleas for help from people already gone. Cries for help echoing and echoing, proof that the help had never come. The Net was in shambles and every signal booster in range was either dead or pinged back no recent activity. The airwaves were full of nothing but ghosts.

When she slept, she dreamed of cliffs and mountains, broken glass, and fields of flowers stained red with blood. The dreams were odd and too-vivid. There was always a feeling of chasing something or of being chased. Even the quiet ones were full of an eerie, hair-raising restlessness, wandering through silent fields just waiting for lightning to strike.

But no matter how far she wandered, no matter what wonders or horrors she saw, she always woke back to reality. Grinding exhaustion, suffocation, dancing the knife's edge of survival.

Walking the edge was too easy.

* * *

Four days after the attack, the Last City, Earth

The Hunter's presence was never announced. It would be silent one moment, then a small shower of debris would be the only warning before she slid into their shelter. Even after three days, it still brought gut-wrenching panic. Who knew if next time it would be the Guardian or the Cabal?

It was the Guardian, this time at least. Her armor was torn and soot-stained; nobody could tell what color it once had been. The outline of her visor and her flowing cape was all the identification they had in the dimness of this space. She stood, slouching a bit under the low ceiling, and took in the room.

Everything seemed to pass inspection. The Hunter pulled off her helmet, so Akron stepped over to meet her. He'd fallen into a leadership position with the other civilians, Traveler knows why. The Hunter usually spoke just to him. Always in a rush she was, with never enough time to sit and rest and get to know the people she was keeping alive.

She brought no supplies this time, but news. "There's another group five blocks over," she whispered. Akron had never actually heard her voice. She didn't speak anything louder than the wind whistling through empty windows and balconies. (Besides the explosions, the falling rubble, the Cabal squads, the City was too quiet these days. There used to be laughter. Music. Now they just had the wind.)

"I think it would be best for you to move together," the Hunter suggested. She suggested, she advised, but she shunned any sort of leadership role. Akron resented her for it. She was a Guardian, wasn't she? She was supposed to protect them, do the hard things.

It was Akron making the hard decisions nowadays. He brought all the factors together in his head. Was Clara strong enough to move yet? They had too many things down here- blankets and clothes, mostly. What should they leave behind, what should they bring? How fast could they get everything together? Could they afford to spend any more time down here, undersupplied and cut off?

"They said they're ready to move whenever you are. If you are. I'm to bring back news." Her Ghost hovered weakly beside her, illuminating their ramshackle cave. It was actually the basement of a collapsed building. The Hunter told them the tons of rock and steel had masked their heat signatures from the Cabal scanners.

They'd have been dead otherwise, she'd said.

"We need to get out of here," Akron decided.

The Hunter nodded. "We should wait for nightfall. You have two hours. I'll be back with the others, and you need to be ready to go, right then, or I'll have to leave you." Akron knew he blanched at that thought. The dark shape of her head tilted. "I'd come back," she whispered.

"Very well, Guardian. We will be ready." His voice trembled a little bit, but she didn't seem to notice. She nodded to him and slunk back towards the rockpile of an entrance.

"Hunter!" He called after her, as loud as he dared. Both she and her Ghost turned.

"Be Brave," he said. He couldn't see her face. She just turned and moved to squirm through the slim space up towards daylight.

* * *

Azra Jax: This is going to be risky.

Spark: They're gonna starve if they don't move.

AJ: I know.

AJ: *sigh*

S: We should hit the transmitter on our way back. See if there's anything there.

AJ: There's never anything there.

S: There never is, until one time there is.

AJ: Fine. But if there's a squad nearby we won't have time to wait.

* * *

Cecilia had never been good at waiting. She'd taken up work in the Tower partially because of that reason; Guardian operations never stopped. There was always something to do.

She found herself waiting now. Usually, there would be supplies to distribute, disagreements to settle, or at least something to clean. None of that mattered right now. Everything they had was packed. Everyone was focused on what they needed to do next.

So Cecilia had to wait. It was nerve-searing. The Hunter had said she would be back, but that was hours ago.

But back, at last, she seemed to be. The shelter door slid open with no alarm. The Cabal, their Guardian had told them, would not bother with hacking the doors if their bunker was found. They'd just blow them in or order an airstrike.

Cecilia and the few City Militia people here still readied their weapons and gathered at the entrance.

True to Cecila's logic, it was the Guardian. She never seemed the slightest bit offended at the guns pointed in her direction. She was a Hunter; Cecilia knew they played by less civilized rules. Maybe the war had made a pragmaticist out of her. It certainly had out of Cecilia.

"I wasn't followed," the Guardian said, right to the point. "The other group will be ready. Is everything a go here?"

"Yes," was all Cecilia got out before the Hunter nodded and motioned to form up.

It was weird how same and how different the Guardian operated from the City Militia. She used the same hand signals, but did so with tiny, subtle gestures, just a flick of fingers or the turn of a wrist, elbows held in. She kept the gun in her hand loaded and cocked. The safety was off. Cecilia figured it was a recklessness born of habit- safeties were for mortal people. Yet the once-immortal paused to listen and check her motion tracker with a stubborn patience.

They saw hide nor hair of the Cabal, even when they paused to gather a group of civilians from a bombed-out building. They emerged, blinking and peering at the emergency lights like they were the blinding sun. They were all covered in dust and looked haggard. Cecilia felt for them. As hair-raising as the tension had been, and though the power had gone out after only a few hours, their shelter had been secure. They'd had food and water reserves.

The two groups mingled, shouldering the shared supplies, helping each other over piles of rubble. The Hunter stayed in front, constantly checking over her shoulder. Paradoxically, Cecilia began to relax. The streets were quiet.

Their only warning was a heavy footstep. The Cabal sentry had been standing still and unseen on radar. It stepped forward and raised its gun as the group rounded a corner- the Hunter in front, Cecilia second.

The Hunter didn't even take a heartbeat of surprise. She flew forward. The Cabal got out a grunt of surprise and rage, but then there was a spew of some black substance and it sagged. It stumbled for a second, then fell over. The Hunter danced back out of the way. In her hand was a very long, very sharp knife. Cecilia hadn't seen the flash of it drawn. It was soot-blackened, like the rest of her gear. Well, now it was oil-blackened, though the Hunter wiped it dry on her cloak. Cecilia noted other similar oil-stains on the fabric and wondered just how many Cabal lives that knife had ended.

There was no time to ponder. The Hunter was nearly frantic with urgency. "Go!" she hissed, gesturing wildly. "If anything heard that, we're dead meat! Run! North, turn right when you see the bus, keep going straight. Don't wait for me. If I don't catch up by the time you reach the drainage ditch, don't expect me. The tunnel's just half a klick northeast. Keep going. You're in a gap in the patrols."

She turned back to the Cabal, kneeling to check its rifle. She looked up a second later at the stunned people. "What, are you waiting for a transport to drop out of the sky? Go!"

They went.

* * *

Azra Jax: Stupid, stupid.

Spark: On your left!

AJ: At least we'll make a nice distraction. Might even pull-

S: Duck.

AJ: -Guards from the Wall if this goes on long enough.

S: It shouldn't. Only showing one more hostile. Four o'clock.

AJ: I hate Phalanxes. I hate them so much.

S: Stop! It hasn't spotted us. Breathe.

AJ: Hurt my wrist.

S: No time.

AJ: No guns with this.

S: We haven't drawn wider attention, yet. This is salvageable if we use the knife. Quieter.

AJ: Nothing's managed to get off a shot, huh?

S: You still got it.

S: We just have to kill this one before it radioes in.

AJ: Just a few more feet, c'mon…

S: There!

* * *

The Hunter did catch up eventually. She wasn't visibly hurt, but they did have to pause to wait for her to catch her breath. She just shook her head at Cecilia's and Akron's questions and shooed them all on.

She made them wait for almost twenty minutes in an alley while she scouted out her gap in the Wall. It was a welcome break from the movement, especially for their weaker members. Akron's group had a woman recovering from a head injury, while Cecilia's had several older members of the community. The days of sitting and waiting had done no favors to anyone's physique.

The Hunter came back and motioned silently for them to follow.

Five minutes later and after a short trip through a bombed-out culvert, they were standing under trees.

"You need to travel for several days before you can call in for help," the Hunter whispered. "Sleep at night and move in the day. Cabal have infrared and the canopy around these parts isn't enough to block it. Keep every advantage you have. And keep an eye out for Fallen. They're supposed to have cleared out with all the Cabal ruckus but they're sneaky bastards."

"You won't come with us?" Akron whispered back.

"You're not the only groups I've been helping," the Hunter replied. "The Cabal have set their perimeter up at the Wall and don't really go beyond it. You're much safer out here. Just don't start any fires."

The Hunter straightened and looked over the two groups. "You guys did good," she said. Actually said, not whispered, though still faint. Her voice was scratchy. "You got patience and stealth. Keep them close, they're your best tools."

"Where should we go?" Cecilia asked.

"Follow the riverbed." The Hunter gestured to the trickle of water flowing into their culvert. "It'll take you through a pass in the mountains- be very careful around that. If there's any Fallen, they'll be there. It's been raining for days, so less chance of flash floods. Keep dry, don't eat any weird fruits. Call for help once you're out of the pass."

"Copy," Cecilia said. The Hunter nodded and held out a fist. Cecilia did likewise. The Guardian knocked their two fists together in an oddly casual gesture, then turned to go.

They walked for a full hour in silence before Cecilia realized she'd never asked the Hunter's name and the Hunter had never offered it.

* * *

Azra Jax: I was distracted.

Spark: No harm, no foul. Four more Cabal gone. Thirty-five more civilians evacuated.

AJ: Coulda been all of us dead.

S: Give yourself some credit for once.

AJ: Fine. I'm very brave and clever.

S: You certainly proved brave tonight. And your cleverness has paid off, too. It was your idea to leave a physical note at the comm tower.

AJ: And your idea to check it. Might not have seen the reply 'till after the meeting time.

S: Do you think it's really him?

AJ: Why wouldn't it be?

S: Well, you both are quite famous at this point. It would be the logical trap to set.

S: And the handwriting on that note…

AJ: Nah, Sylas always had Cabal-esque penmanship. I'm just curious how he found a crayon but not a pencil.

S: Well, he's a Titan and all.

AJ: Good thinking. Probably keeping 'em around for snacks.

S: Sleep now?

AJ: My wrist first. It's distracting.


	4. Where We've Been

You ask, "Where will we stand in the winds that will howl,  
As all we see will slip into the clouds?"  
So come down from your mountain and stand where we've been  
You know our breath is weak, and our bodies thin

Babel – Mumford and Sons

* * *

Five days after the attack, the Last City, Earth

The note said 9pm. Azra was there (by her estimations) at 5. It was one of the oldest tricks in the Hunter playbook. You got an event you're suspicious about, show up early. Hours early. Days, if you can manage it. Give yourself time to learn the rhythms of your setting. Bunker down, get comfortable, arrange yourself and your gear, plan your escape routes.

She found the building easy enough. The front door was blocked by half a Thresher (the other half, Azra noted, was sticking out of a skyscraper three blocks away). There was a convenient dumpster that made it easy to climb through a second-story window on the side. Azra decided she was going to make a donation to the dumpster company when all this was through. (Assuming she survived.)

It was one of the City's older buildings, made from rough-hewn mountain stone. The newer ones were all glittering metal and glass. This had been built before major steelworks and mass production, back in a time when the only thing between you and the Fallen could be the walls of your church. It was settled deep on its foundations, sturdy and strong.

Azra immediately decided she liked it. The ceilings were vaulted and the place held quiet like a sponge held water. Religion, and all the impractical questions it asked, always made her feel… uncomfortable. Her waters were muddied enough without all of the considerations about souls and divinity. But she loved holy places. There was a measure of care and contemplation put into the architecture that wasn't matched in a hundred gleaming skyscrapers.

She settled herself in the rafters and sent Spark to watch the street. She didn't like the idea of wasting hours, but she liked the idea of dying in a Cabal ambush less. Plus, it had been too long since she'd last slept.

* * *

_You're looking for something._

_You walk the Wall of the City. You figure you are somewhere north of Gheleon's watch. It is silent and everything is still, like the world cast in epoxy: untouchable, unmovable. There is simply nothing here to make sound. You look out over the drop and see nothing. Not even the crashing ocean or the yawning blankness of the Vault stare back up. The faint sense of warning that normally comes with heights has abandoned you. You feel this is right. After all, there is no space to fall into._

_You walk in a twin-ringed world of ethereal beauty. The ground is veined with platinum and the sky is strewn with stars that don't actually exist. The water is silver-bright. The lakes are like scattered bits of mirror. When you pause to look into them, you are startled, unfamiliar with the look of your own face. You, all brown and gray and green, don't match the palette of this world._

_You stand in the Queen's court, staring out at the infini_ _ty she calls her diadem. The Queen asks how you have come to be here. You shrug, knowing that to explain anything, you must explain the universe, and you have patience for neither cosmology nor quantum physics. You have even less patience for secret-games and the shapes lies make in the open air._

_You walk in the place of shattered earth and cracked shadows. You could relax here if you let yourself. There is company. Andal Brask says that you look more solid than the last time you were here. He sounds scared. You leave with an apology still unspit from your lips._

_You walk deep underground. The earth is dry, screaming out for a lack of water and air. It protrudes in odd sh_ _apes. The geometry of this place is that of simplicity: triangles. Three corners for three spatial dimensions, with the fourth for time pointing out at you in such perspective you can't tell how close the edge is. Even the space her is unhappy, writhing against your existence like worms in the soil._

_You stand at the precipice. An overwhelming urge to jump makes your heart pound. Your feet are glued to the ground._

* * *

Azra woke up in a cold sweat. Spark was already there, whisper-close, telling her she had slept for three hours. Three hours wasn't nearly long enough, if the gritty dryness in her eyes was anything to go by.

She carefully maneuvered herself into an upright position. Spark gave her a sitrep as she stretched her muscles back into usefulness. "Two patrols have gone by. I think they have switched to their night schedule now. It's been quiet otherwise. I have a few escape routes scouted out."

It would be difficult to piggyback off of his knowledge. Azra's link to her Ghost was so weak, still. She hoped it would be enough if they had to make a break for it.

"It will be," Spark reassured. "Did you want to try and sleep more? Traveler knows you could use it."

She shook her head mutely and reached for her Sidearm instead. The wet conditions made gun maintenance a constant chore, even though she rarely shot anything. The Sidearm was a last resort- she needed it to be reliable, which meant she'd already sunk several hours into caring for it over the past few days. (At least Banshee would be proud, wherever he was).

It was a calming task, one she performed methodically. She let her senses soak in the ambiance as she scrubbed grime from her gun. It was hard these days to find any sense of peace. She clung to the fragile feeling of equilibrium.

Of course she heard him come in. That was the whole point of showing up early. She had just finished re-assembling the gun when some unconsciously-heard noise made her pause. Several seconds later she picked up what sounded like a boot tread on hollow plastic, then a small grunt of exertion. She leaned out just far enough to get a sightline on the entrance.

It was Sylas-4. Azra didn't need her Lightsense to tell that. The Titan heaved his way into the window with an effort that spoke of exhaustion. He didn't seem injured, per se, but he wasn't exactly steady on his feet. He dropped to the floor, stumbled slightly, swayed, put a hand to the wall. "How much longer?" he asked his Ghost.

"Half an hour," the Ghost replied.

The Titan lowered himself onto one of the benches. Azra kept watch a moment longer, more out of habit than anything else. He looked positively battered. His Mark was shredded and looked like it'd been on fire a few times. When he removed his helmet, Azra saw the left side of his face had been nearly crushed. His left optic was dim and stuttering. The mechanics of his jaw were exposed.

Enough waiting. This was no Cabal trap. This was Sylas, and she trusted him.

Though there was no need to court his trigger finger. She sent Spark in first. "Don't freak out," the small machine announced. "We've been hiding in the ceiling."

"We?" the Titan asked.

Azra shifted her weight off of the beam, dangling a moment before letting herself fall. She landed feet-first on the smoke-stained floor. "Hey, Sylas," (she winced internally at how rough her voice sounded), "Long time, no see."

The Titan started to rise, then seemed to think better of it. He settled back on his bench and let Azra come to him. "I thought it would be you," he rasped.

She bit back an impulse to run and throw her arms around him. She hadn't seen a familiar face since the Cabal attacked. But Sylas was not a touchy person, and he looked tense even now. "I thought you'd be some Psion trick-assassin," she replied. "Glad you're still alive."

Straight to business, it seemed. "Have you had any contact-"

"No," Azra cut him off. After a moment's hesitation, she bundled herself into the pew the row ahead of Sylas and leaned over the back to face him. "No news since Zavala's message five days ago. The net's completely down."

"Any civilian groups?" Sylas asked.

"A few," Azra replied. "Most of which have been evacuated at this point. Don't think the supplies are going to last long enough for long-term occupation. Trying to get everyone out."

"Not wholly necessary," Sylas intoned. "We have a resistance. Eva Levante has been running it."

"The Tower fashion lady?" Azra asked. "Really?"

"The people of the City are stronger than you think," Sylas said. "She herself has organized the whole movement. We've consolidated resources, sent out scouting parties, and made contact with dozens of Lightless Guardian and civilian groups."

"I've… made a map," Azra offered. "Like I said, I've managed to evacuate most of the people I've come across. The ones that, you know… uh, didn't die." Sylas made a face. With his damaged jaw, she couldn't tell if it was a frown or a grimace.

Spark projected the map for the Titan and his Ghost. Sylas's face was still whole enough to show surprise and pleasure. "This is good work," he said.

"It's my job," Azra replied. "It's up to date as of a few hours ago."

"You've had much more success scouting than our other Guardians have," Sylas mused. "This is _fantastic_."

"I know how to move quiet. This isn't the stickiest situation I've been in."

"It isn't, is it?" Sylas said. He sounded almost giddy. "Those warehouses," his finger traced a small sector of the map. "How well are they guarded?"

"Literally everything I know is on the map, Sy," Azra said. "You can see the patrols go by often. Haven't had the time to stake them out to see if there's any gaps in security."

"We should make the time," Sylas said. "If I'm not mistaken, those held nonperishables for the markets in the Peregrine district. We could-"

Azra's mouth opened of its own accord. "I'm not staying," she blurted out.

She hadn't realized the words were true until they hung in the open air. Like that, her mind was made up. She wasn't staying. She couldn't. It was obvious now that she thought about it. She'd kept her Sparrow in storage, even though it left less room for supplies. She'd stashed every extra bit of loot she'd had on her, ruthlessly unsentimental and practical- except the Sparrow, and the water filter, and tarp, even though she hadn't so much as touched any of them for the past five days.

Of course she wouldn't just sit around and wait for things to resolve themselves. She'd always been ready to go.

Sylas stuttered. "Wai- What?" He looked her straight in the eyes.

Azra looked away, uncomfortable. "I'm leaving. Probably tonight."

"But, Azra," Sylas protested. "We need you. The resistance-"

"Isn't the only thing we have to worry about." Besides, restlessness prickled under her skin.

The Titan before her was confounded. You could almost see the puzzle he was trying to piece together in his head. The wounded, sure. The weak, the new, those who couldn't survive the Cabal, they should be evacuated. Azra was well, and whole, and strong, and was not unfamiliar with the limitations thrust upon her. Why would she leave when she was needed here?

Sylas was forever focused on today, on tomorrow. His groundedness was a blessing most of the time, but it could also be a curse. He would keep running his supply missions and sneaking refugees out of the City until the walls came crumbling down around him. He'd wait for someone else to fix the bigger problem. He saw his duty as the immediate, tangible reality before them. The danger of starvation and Cabal squadrons.

Azra was practical herself, but still. She couldn't help but shift her gaze from the next few hours to the disturbing infinity beyond. So, they could work to get the resistance fed. Then what? They were all living on borrowed time now. Supply runs wouldn't extend it forever. Without the Light, they were all doomed.

The dreams hadn't stopped. Azra didn't think she could sit still any longer, watching the Traveler's cage form piece by heartbreaking piece, not having any way of fixing it.

But she couldn't start talking about dreams now. Sylas had dug his feet into the dirt so far he'd practically put down roots. He wouldn't understand.

So Azra looked him in the eye and lied to him. "We keep sneaking people out. We have no idea what it's like out there. Five days and no word from Zavala. Nothing from the rest of the Vanguard, from anyone. We need to get some sort of communication going."

"You're giving up," Sylas accused. "You never liked the City-"

"You think I wouldn't die for it?" Azra challenged.

"I think you're running when things are tough." Sylas's anger was like a brick wall. It stung to run into it.

Well, it wasn't like Sylas could keep her here. "I don't want to leave on bad terms, but-"

The Titan crossed his arms, stubborn. "Your leaving is what is putting us on bad terms." He didn't even try to hide the hurt in his voice.

Azra gestured futilely. "I'm trying to think of the future, Sylas! How is this going to end?" Staying wouldn't change the ending, only delay it.

"This never ends," the Exo growled. "Haven't you been paying attention? There is always another threat. Crota, the Wolves, Oryx, SIVA-" he spit the names like they were curses. "You can't fix the universe, Azra. If there's one thing you should have learned, it's that you can't throw away today in hope of tomorrow. People are going to die if you leave."

"People are going to die if I stay," Azra said. "You'll run out of supplies, or the Cabal will finish whatever it is they're doing to the Traveler, or the Vanguard won't manage to rally and we'll all die slowly. I might not be able to fix the universe, but I'll be damned if I don't at least try to fix this."

"Alone?" Sylas asked.

Azra paused. She had no pack. Shiro had been away, Cayde she hadn't heard a peep from since the Light left. She had no fireteam, either. Sulla was probably at the Forge on Mercury. The only other members of Fireteam Dauntless she'd had any contact with were Sylas, who might as well be cast in concrete on his pew for all he'd move, and…

Azra's voice was a little rough. "I'm not the miracle worker. Last I heard from Veera, she was headed up to that big Capitol ship to deal with the problem at its source. Uh, obviously, she didn't deal with it."

"I have never known her to quit a task," Sylas said. His expression was distant.

"Yeah," Azra agreed, lost in similar thoughts. "So either she was too slow, and got trapped Lightless in a big ship full of very mean Cabal, or…"

"Or," Sylas agreed. She hadn't been too slow, she'd been too _weak_ to stop it. Neither option left much room for survival.

There was a moment of quiet. Azra couldn't guess what was going through Sylas's head, but she knew what ran through hers. The Vault. Crota. The Wolves. Oryx. SIVA.

She finally looked the Titan in the eye. "Listen, Sy, we've fought a lot of things together. You know I'm no coward."

"You run at even the mention of social events," the Exo muttered.

"I'm not leaving 'cause I'm afraid of getting roped into some party, Sylas. I'm leaving-"

"Because you believe it's the right thing to do," the Exo finished ruefully. "I have never known Veera to quit, and I have never known you to abandon your morals."

Azra felt guilty. But Sylas looked… at peace. And if Azra was leaving anyway, she'd rather leave him with his warmth and hope, instead of the cold uncertainty brewing in her own chest.

 _There's one more thing we can do_ , Spark whispered.

She was cut off from the Traveler now, Lightless as a civilian. She couldn't feel it, couldn't shape it- but she wasn't just her own self. She was as mortal as a newborn baby, but Spark was made from the Light, at least in part. Light and machinery and glass. And the Light was everywhere, in everything.

 _We helped that Warlock with a broken leg_ , she thought. She reached out a hand to touch Sylas's cheek.

Spark floated close. It wasn't his Guardian's face that was damaged. He had no idea of what Sylas's body was supposed to look like, aside from the superficial. But he knew his Guardian's Light, as shattered and dim as it was.

 _Everything we got_ , she encouraged.

Sylas's Ghost swooped over. They cast him a line, offered a metaphorical hand. He pulled at it, pulled until Azra grew dizzy and her breath caught. Spark didn't cut it off. Azra felt metal shift under her fingers. Her palm tingled with spent energies.

Azra removed her hand and contemplated Sylas's new-perfect face. He blinked in surprise.

"You didn't have to do that," he said.

Azra hauled her weary body to its feet. The past hours of rest had been for nothing. "Consider it a parting gift," she said. "Until we meet again." If they met again. "Keep the City safe while I'm gone."

"Watch yourself, Jax," he said. "Don't go get yourself killed on me now."

* * *

In the end, she just walked out. The Cabal were too busy with their shift change to notice a lone soot-blackened Hunter slip into the stormwater system.

She left Sylas with a copy of the map and most of her supplies. Sylas left her with an old civilian radio. It didn't need the network to broadcast and had a significantly longer range than Spark's pings could travel. Long enough to reach the resistance's current base of operations from several kilometers outside the Wall.

She walked through the culverts for what seemed like hours (but was actually only minutes). Eventually she found and open intake grate and slipped through it, cursing her sore back as she straightened.

She looked at the City, dark save for Cabal spotlights and the eerie orange glow of the Traveler's cage. And for the first time in what seemed like years (but was actually only days), turned away and left it behind her.


	5. Interlude: A Light in the Dark

We've got a knife in our hearts and a fork in the road  
We see a light in the dark but it's fading like hope  
I'll make a promise just to break it for the sake of it  
We think that we're honest but truth is what we make it to be

Intacto – Passenger

* * *

Cayde-6 was very, very lucky.

This was a well-known fact. Even the worst odds had a tendency to swing in his favor. He'd pulled off some pretty impossible stunts in his time. There were whispers, of course (and the occasional loud accusation) of _cheating_ \- fancy tricks, illegal mods, stolen intel- but it didn't matter. Luck was luck, made or not, and all that mattered at the end of the day was who was still kicking and who got paid.

But still, even without all that, the fair Lady seemed to be sweet on him. He gave another reverent thanks as the Cabal slug whizzed harmlessly by his head. Another near miss to throw on the pile. Any one of them could spell the end now, the real end. Yet none had.

His knife found a seam in the Phalanx's armor. It was enough to stun the creature, allowing Cayde to push aside its shield and deal a much more damaging blow to its neck. It fell. Cayde grabbed his knives and flew for cover.

No more bullets found marks near him. The Exo returned his weapons to their sheaths and re-oriented himself. Luck again had favored him; the scuffle he'd just ended had brought him closer to his target. Just one block now to the East Stacks of the City Archive.

'Now', you may be asking yourself, 'what is a gen-u-ine death-defying, hell-raising, name-taking Gunslinger like Cayde-6 doing snooping around some stuffy library?' The answer: snooping, obviously. Even Gunslingers had to enjoy a good snoop now and again. How else was one supposed to pull fancy tricks, illegal mods, and stolen intel out of their butt when the going got tough?

The East Stacks in particular had a secret, kept out of general disinterest and ignorance rather than clandestine methods. There, tucked away in the corner, was an old terminal. It wasn't often used. In fact, Cayde had to wipe away dust that had gathered on the manual keyboard. Cayde suspected only he and the occasional admin ever touched the thing. The interface was a product of a bygone era- no touchscreen, no sleek minimalist design, no Bluetooth- in fact, it wasn't connected to the Net at all.

It was, however, connected to the Archives. That made it very useful for snooping information without the Vanguard noticing. Now it would be useful for snooping information without the Cabal noticing.

He needed intel, bad. Zavala's message had gone out seven hours ago. It pinged through every available relay, which meant everyone had heard it. Especially the Cabal. The smug bastards could take their time to settle in, knowing a counteroffensive was some time away.

He'd thought about the potential brilliance of it for a moment. Evacuation, consolidation, then offense was such an obvious plan, and so obviously the sane tactical choice- but _what if_? These Cabal were more complacent than Cayde had ever seen Cabal. There would never be a better time to strike back.

Had Andal been the one to give the message, Cayde would have suspected some immediate, stunning turnaround- assassination, ambush, sabotage. They couldn't afford a lengthy offensive, not with their numbers dwindling by the hour. It would be such an Andal move to take the Cabal's victory and throw it back in their face, use their own crushing tactical superiority against them.

But Zavala was no Andal. So this issue was going to drag on for weeks, months, maybe years. Maybe forever. Cayde did not do month-long offensives. Cayde did not do strategy. He did _tactics_. End things quick, strike hard and fast, hit the enemy where it would hurt them the most. For Cabal, all rigid military, that meant their leadership. Why waste time and lives bleeding the beast dry when you could just cut off its head?

But he needed intel for a strike like that. So the terminal. It booted up under Sundance's command. Normally, he'd type; it was quieter. Today, his finger joints creaked where they were dented and worn. The actuators in his left hand kept throwing up maintenance warnings.

He selected voice input instead, waiting anxiously as the machine took his authorization and loaded up its systems.

He leaned forward like he was sitting at a bar, dragging a story out of an old acquaintance. "I need to take down a giant space rhino before he sees me."

* * *

Sylas-4 double-checked, then triple-checked that he hadn't been followed. Then he quadruple-checked for good measure. One could never be too careful, considering what was currently located in the ramshackle apartment building.

It took five flights of stairs for the walls to stop being stained with smoke and dirt. By the end of it, Sylas could feel every artificial muscle in his legs begging for relief. He trudged into the common area that currently served as the Resistance's command room and dropped onto a sofa.

His reprieve was short-lived.

A leather-clad Hunter (Ramos, his name was) slid through the doorway. He spoke in a hushed voice. "Did your meeting with your mystery person go well? I didn't see you bring anyone back…"

"Yes," Sylas said. "She's probably gone by now. She wanted to set up communication with the whatever resistance exists outside the City." It was a lie, he knew. He'd seen the look on her face. "But she left us a map," he added on as an afterthought.

Ghost projected the file for Ramos. Both the Hunter and his Ghost whistled in appreciation. "This is extensive," Ramos cooed.

"Mapmaking has always been a talent of hers," Sylas mused.

"You know her, then?" the Hunter said, still peering at the dim blue projection. He didn't seem all that interested in the answer to his question.

Sylas answered anyway. "Azra Jax. I'm sure you've heard of her."

"Mmm-hm," Ramos said mildly, still obviously distracted. "Isn't she on your fireteam?"

"I still hope so," Sylas muttered.

Ramos looked up at him cocked his head. "What?"

He shouldn't have said that. There was no room for doubt now, only determination, _action_. They had to keep moving forward. "Those warehouses," he said, pointing, "we need to stake them out. She said she didn't know how much security they had. If I'm not mistaken, they hold essential supplies."

The Hunter leaned back and nodded. "Ah, plans to get some decent food around here. I'm all behind that. I don't think I could stomach another dehydrated seaweed cake."

"Are you ready to go now?" Sylas asked. He shifted forward on his seat, aches temporarily forgotten.

"You sure you don't want to sleep some?" Ramos asked, eyeing the Exo skeptically. "You've been running yourself hard."

"I'm fine," Sylas insisted. He didn't need sleep. He needed to _do_ something.

Besides, if he slept, then he'd dream. And he'd seen the look on Azra's face, like she was trying to ignore someone calling her name. He didn't need distractions.

Ramos tapped his fingers together. "You sure? This can wait, you know, I can eat a _bit_ more seaweed if it's called for."

"People are dying," Sylas growled.

The Hunter paused for a second but didn't seem to find a good retort. He shrugged. "Let me grab Ratamazz. You know she'll want in."

"You have five minutes," the Titan replied.

* * *

Shiro could have missed it. That's what shook him the most, the idea that if he had been distracted, he might not have known until it was too late. His connection to the Light was strong, _sometimes._ He could Dance as well as the next person, but ephemeral powers did not always suit him. More often than not he favored real, tangible things, guns and knives and radio systems, over space magic. It was not his go-to tool for solving problems.

So if he'd been distracted, out running the wolves of hacking the latest Fallen firewall, he might not have noticed the Light was gone.

As luck would have it, he was set up in a sniper perch on the roof of the Iron Temple. Fallen raiding parties had been an issue recently. Tracking one back to their base would be a quick way to end things. And Shiro needed a few hours away from the bustle of humanity. Two birds, one stone.

Sniping, even if one never intended to shoot a bullet, required more focus on yourself than on the world around you. Even Exos, with no heartbeat to tremor the gun, still breathed. He had to be conscious of the pressure he put on the trigger, the way the gun settled against his shoulder, the delicate balance of forces keeping his body still on his less-than-ideal perch.

So he actually noticed when it was just a tiny bit harder to breathe in than it had been a second ago. And maybe gravity seemed to pull a bit stronger? He tried to inhale deeply, let out a sigh to settle himself, but his breath hitched.

It didn't go wrong until he reached for the Light in true, a reflex against the symptoms of fatigue. Then it all came crashing down around him. Almost quite literally.

He pulled, but there was no tension on the line, throwing him off his metaphorical balance and leaving him reeling. He repressed the urge to cough, trying to motion to Pace to take the sniper rifle lest he drop it. But the Ghost was nowhere to be seen. Shiro noted in horror the clattering noise of what sounded like a small rock tumbling off of the roof. A flash of orange caught his eye as his Ghost careened out of view.

If Pace bounced wrong, he'd go over the side of the mountain face. That was a very long fall.

Shiro left the rifle where it was, leaping instinctively after his Ghost. He remembered too late that he might not be able to survive a tumble down the mountain either. The Light failed to buoy him up.

He turned, whip-quick, and his hands caught the roof edge just in time. His momentum sent him penduluming forward. His legs cracked loudly against the stone wall, but his grip held.

He hung for a second, stunned. His senses returned to him one by one. The gray stone of the Iron Temple resolved itself into focus. Then the roaring in his ears dimmed. He worked his ankles carefully, but everything seemed in order still. Only a bit of pain and a few stress warnings popped up as he flexed his toes. He drew in a deep breath and turned it into a sigh, releasing his panic.

Then he realized he was still at least three dozen feet above the courtyard pavement.

Shiro swore loudly.

* * *

Veera's ascent into consciousness was slow and painful. Gravity fought her every step of the way. She struggled against disorientation and confusion like they were physical forces. Where was she? What had happened? The last thing she remembered was… falling. The Light had gone, she'd dropped her Ghost, and Ghaul had pushed her off of the ship.

No, that wasn't right. The last thing she remembered… the City in the light of a brilliant day. Pyramids falling into waters swirling with the faces of the damned. A giant fish. Constellations with shapes she couldn't make out but knew were important. A shard of twisted, jagged, glowing Light, a monstrous and gloriously broken eggshell. And through it all, a hawk, flying with purpose. Like an arrow. _Here. Go here_.

Veera fought to stand. How she wasn't dead, she didn't know. The City was in shambles around her. Rubble was strewn everywhere, pieces of buildings and Cabal ships. It was raining.

She had to find her Ghost. The Warlock staggered a step forward and choked on the pain. Her whole body was screaming, legs trembling, lungs burning, head swimming.

But she _had_ to find her Ghost. She took another step forward. More pain. But she'd taken one step, now she'd taken two, and even though every cell in her body protested, she had done it. She could take more.

That's what she told herself through steps three and four and five, counting the too-slow, too-heavy beats of her heart. She sucked in breaths through gritted teeth. But her heart was beating. She was breathing. She could walk. That meant that there was still hope. There was a chance to fix this.

And Veera was not one to give up on odds like that.


	6. I Won't Stop

But in the sky I see roads  
And I know I've got and go and chase 'em  
My legs, they never sit still  
Not even in rest  
And I know I will pine for peace  
But I won't stop even if I find it  
Yeah, that's the problem with me

I See Roads - Radical Face

* * *

Midnight, five days after the attack, near the Last City, Earth

Azra turned her back on the Wall.

"Where will we go?" Spark asked.

"West? North?" They were on the west side of the City now. "Unless you think another sweep of the Rio port is going to turn up something flyable, best bet is Austin. Or San Diego. And if that fails, Kamchatka's basically the only way of getting over to Eurasia…"

"That's a long trip," Spark said. Probably over 30,000 kilometers when it was all said and done.

"That's only assuming our distress signal isn't picked up by anyone." It'd be faster to go north around to Old Russia or Norway. "Can we survive a polar trip without the Light?"

"No."

She checked the magazine on her gun one last time. "Then let's make that the plan. North, if nobody can pick us up, to Austin or San Diego or to Kamchatka. You know the plan won't survive long, anyhow."

* * *

The plan survived for the better part of a day. Everything was oddly quiet. There were usually at least a few Fallen scuttling around near the City- if not for raiding convoys, at least to keep an eye on Humanity. Not now. They'd all left days ago, it seemed. Their nests and fortifications were abandoned. It made Azra feel a bit better about all the refugees she'd sent out.

There were Cabal in the major passes. Azra saw their ships. She'd been smart enough to direct people away from them- she could only hope everyone else had, too. She hoped all the Guardians had cleared out as soon as things had gone south.

But she knew better. She'd heard the distress signals.

She herself stayed far away, electing to take Blackwater Pass. It was familiar- she'd been through it once before, during Twilight Gap. She'd taken a tumble off of the edge and fallen right into Jaren Ward's lap. Blackwater was convenient, and small enough to not be patrolled, and…

Well, maybe she liked the irony. She didn't fall this time. She had no Light, but she had decades of experience climbing.

* * *

Six days after the attack

The sun rose, and with it came…

No Fallen activity. No Cabal activity. Azra poked around a few frontier posts and their Fallen counterparts. Everything was gathering dust. What would this place look like in a month, a year, a decade, Azra wondered? Would the City come and put the work in to refurbish these old outposts that had fallen into disrepair? Or would they decide the fortifications obsolete and pull further back in on themselves, like they had after Twilight Gap?

That was assuming, of course, that the City would ever be the City again. She scavenged for supplies as best as she could and locked the doors behind her, just in case.

The traveling was hard. Azra just couldn't leap streams or gaps in the pass like she used to. And she found herself fatigued. Without the Light, it always felt like she'd just come off of a long mission (or maybe, as Spark pointed out, the lack of sleep was doing more damage than the loss of Light). She'd brought some basic foodstuffs, but she was burning through them at an alarming rate. There just wasn't much to scavenge in the scrubby, sunscorched brush. Before, she could go days without food, easy. Now hunger clawed at her belly, a constant companion. She had to think of things like calories, the long days or weeks of travel ahead of her.

No, she needed to think of the present. It was hard. The present was grueling, monotonous work, putting one weak, overtaxed foot in front of the other. She needed to rest, but she couldn't stop. There was nowhere to stop that wasn't precarious or horribly exposed or an abandoned enemy base. She was not tempting fate to say the Fallen wouldn't return. She'd just have to push through the exhaustion.

The sun slipped past its zenith too quickly. She wasn't making good time; caution and fatiuge were eating up a lot of her speed. She needed to find somewhere safe to rest before the sun set again. Night came early in the mountains.

She contemplated using her civilian radio to call for help but decided against it. The terrain was too rocky for a Sparrow, and without a quick means of escape or a really good hiding spot, she wasn't going to risk her life by broadcasting her location to the universe. She wasn't that desperate yet. She even began ignoring the occasional fortification along her path, wanting to be out of the treacherous, confined valley as soon as possible.

Until she came across a little Fallen station with the lights still on. That was enough to give her pause.

She approached with extreme caution. The Fallen were just as dangerous as the Cabal, and any mistake now would be the end. Eventually, after several minutes of observation, she slunk out of cover and reached for the door. It slid open easily, revealing an empty base. The fine layer of dust on the floor showed no recent tracks.

"I'll see if we can't use their antenna to call for a ride," Spark said. "You do your snooping."

The tech was basic, but at least it was powered. With the right codes, they could use the Fallen network to call for help. That was much less likely to bring the Red Legion down on their heads than the City channels.

Azra did a thorough sweep of the small base. The evacuation here had been very fast indeed- there were half-spent Ether tanks strewn everywhere, juiced-up shock blades, bits of armor. The only other bit of notable tech was a teleporter tucked away in the corner. She flicked the display screen and it booted up. Spark grumbled about the comms systems. It seemed it wasn't their lucky day in terms of ride-calling.

"Where's Shiro when you need him?" Azra joked.

"I miss Pace," Spark murmured. "He was a genius with the Fallen network."

Azra absentmindedly scrolled through the display on the Fallen teleporter. "Don't use past tense, bud. Pace _is_ a genius with the Fallen network. Any idea where this leads?"

Spark floated over to investigate. Azra removed a glove and ran her fingers over metal base of the plate. It was full of ridges, ringed with a grate. Why? Was the pattern there to help the transmat process? Or was it just for grip and drainage?

"Azra, do you see it?" Spark's voice was full of wonder. Then an image flashed before her eyes.

_The coals of a campfire smolder next to your landing place. You're alone. You stand and look down at the fire, and the coals form a strange circular pattern. It burns into your mind. You're alone. You're not supposed to be alone…_

She stared at the plate. It made a very unique pattern. There was no denying it.

"No idea on where this will take us," she murmured.

"It's a sign," Spark said reverently.

And that was the end of that discussion. Azra didn't even bother turning the base's power off or locking the door. She stepped on. Spark hit the switch.

* * *

Suddenly, darkness. While her eyes adjusted, Azra took in the world through her other senses. It was quiet. Wind in the grass. Very, very far-off engines, no more than the barest of hums on the edge of her hearing. The air was dry and held a slight tang of machine oil and soot. Wide-open space, few trees, more rocks and rusted vehicles.

She moved from the plate, quickly, quietly. The light and sound a Fallen teleporter made would draw attention in this environment. No sense in baiting snipers.

She knew where she was before her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She was on the outskirts of the Cosmodrome. The grass, the taste of the air, and the hulking wrecks of old cars all contributed to a landscape unlike anything else she'd seen on Earth.

The wind was a constant ebb, sign of a pressure system about to come through, though the sky was the uniform blue-gray of clouds at midnight. In the distance she began to make out tiny pinpricks of light, probably Fallen ships and tanks and other machinery scavenging about in the cover of night.

She had no intention of picking fights with a Fallen Walker. She moved laterally to them, not getting any closer but not willing to move away without getting her bearings first.

"We'll leave at sunrise," Spark whispered. Azra nodded agreement. Sunrise at the very least would tell where East was (or Northeast, at this latitude and this time of year). She found a small stream, barely a few inches wide, and filled her canteens again.

How lucky was it, or how unknowingly smart she had been, to buy a filter that did biological contaminants? She'd never had to worry about food poisoning before. She only wanted to get the dirt and weird tastes out of her drinking water. She'd just happened to grab one that did viruses and bacteria. She'd thought, why not? Thirty more Glimmer wouldn't break the bank.

Azra was thanking her past self more and more these days for those moments of careless overpreparation.

It was no use trying to gather food or wander about in the darkness, so after she figured she'd moved an appropriate distance away from the teleporter, she bedded down. An overturned van provided a perfect hiding place, even if she'd had to pull a skeleton out of it before there was enough room for her.

And despite the far-off threat of the Fallen, despite her new Lightlessness still leaving her feeling soft and vulnerable, despite the wind and the first patterings of rain that began before dawn, she slept, and slept soundly.

* * *

_You stand on a flat expanse of metal. The solar wind brushes cool against your unguarded soul. You have never stood this close to the Sun and you never will again. If you hold your hands out you can feel the massive forces at play here. You whip around the Sun in a tight, frantic orbit, balanced on the edge from falling into its incomprehensible mass. The Sun shreds existence itself apart to produce heat and light and electron neutrinos. You wonder, if you fell, how long it would be until you were nothing but heat and light and electron neutrinos._

_You walk through the Tower concourse. The lights are on. You think they could stand to turn them off every once in a while. The lamps cast their nets of visibility wide, overlapping, so everything has a dozen shadows. You look up, expecting to see at least a few stars. With a sinking feeling in your stomach, you realize there's nothing there. Not cloud cover, not the strange un-black of the washed out City sky, not the Traveler. There is a gaping infinity, impenetrable and absolute. As you stare upward, you feel gravity loosen its grip on you. There is nothing pressing you to the ground anymore, but there is nowhere up to fall._

_You go to the field with the stone tower and the army spread before it. This is not your army. This is not your dream. You think you might recognize a few people, but the scene whisks itself away from you before you have a chance to be sure._

_You are in one of the Hydroponic gardens at the Reef. There is no broccoli or lettuce in the floating beds, but hundreds of tiny silver trees. They release specks of light like pollen. The air is thick with it. Curious, you lift the edge of one of the mats to look into the tank below. Immediately you are hit with the stench of mildew and rot. They are filled with pitch-black ooze that ripples in disturbing patterns and clings to your hands. Unable to help yourself, you raise a fingertip to your tongue. It tastes of food mold and blood. Worms slither in the muck, feasting on the rotting tree roots._

_You float in the endless black, surrounded by stars. They are an impossible distance away. You are in the weightlessness of stable orbit, you suppose around one star that seems a bit brighter than the rest. This far out, it provides no warmth, just a weak illumination of your surroundings.. There are other objects near you, caught in their own orbits. You recognize some of them: a chuck of a street sign from the Last City. The leg of a Fallen Walker. Part of a Vex portal. Oryx's sword. A conference table from the rooms in Tower North. Others are alien: a chunk of purple-blue gemstone with unbelievably large crystals. A piece of derelict metal railing half-encased in ice. Some strange silver urn. Though you are just a few meters away from some of them, they are untouchable, stuck spinning in an orbit identical to yours._

_You crouch to pick up the scattered bullets on the ground, but you can't seem to find one of the right caliber for your gun. You inspect each one in turn and discard it when it proves useless, until they build up behind you and you are wading through piles of unspent death. You wonder if there's anything made by Human hands that could trigger it._

* * *

Seven days after the attack, The Cosmodrome, Old Russia

The first thing she did after waking up was pull out her Sniper Rifle and began scouting the Cosmodrome through its scope.

The Fallen were clearly confused. Azra wanted to laugh. Of course, so far away from the City, with the comms having gone down (and the Fallen not being very good at decoding Guardian transmissions anyway), they'd have no idea what was up. There certainly wasn't any Guardian action in the Cosmodrome, as far as Azra could tell. They must have all left. Or died.

It took a few minutes for Azra to catch up with her own logic. There weren't Cabal relays anywhere on the continent. If comms had gone down unexpectedly, would anyone out here actually know what had happened?

_Maybe_ , thought Spark, but he was also uncertain. They both pictured what they would do, if they had been out in the wilds and their Light stopped working: get to a ship, head to the City to find what was up.

That… wasn't good. The best chance at survival was scattering, getting away from the City and its Cabal infestation.

The sky was gloomy; the beginnings of a storm were still brewing. Azra turned the lack-of-information problem over in her head as she took note of the sun's general angle. That and the spires in the distance helped her place her location.

She stared at the map for a long minute when she finally found herself on it. She'd moved a few miles last night, skirting West of the Cosmodrome wall, but that only placed her closer to a major Golden-Age communication relay.

* * *

The building was empty. The sudden lack of Guardian activity had made the Fallen both jumpy and bold. Frankly, if she were planning an attack, either Guardian or Fallen, this relay would be no part of it. It and its ancillary buildings stood as a separate facility. It was outside the wall of the Cosmodrome. The Fallen had clearly been messing around in the systems, but they had also clearly left it alone for several days, unguarded.

She kept watch anyway as Spark set up the system. If they drew enough power, they could send a message bouncing from the Cosmodrome all the way to Jupiter, if they wanted. She debated encryptions with her Ghost as she kept an eye on the outside world. All was quiet.

Drawing that much power without warming up the systems could certainly blow a few fuses. It would draw a lot of attention, too. They had to be ready to move when they flipped the switch. Azra quickly abandoned her post to help set everything up (she hated waiting at the door, anyway).

But first, since they were here- when would she get the chance again?

She tried Cayde first, not entirely surprised to receive no response. Azra really hoped he was just off-planet, not dead. Either way, there was nothing she could do to help him, unless she wanted to try to steal a Jumpship from the Cosmodrome without dying. And… she had other things to do.

Azra gave up on Cayde's cause for the moment and typed in the only other transponder key she knew by heart.

His voice was the clearest one she'd heard in days. "Uh, hello?" It was Shiro, sounding incredulous. Azra slumped in relief. "Is this a Fallen prank call?" the Bladedancer continued.

Spark was happy to have working state-of-the-art tech to mess around with. Shiro's voice was crystal clear, despite the dozens of relays it was routed through. Azra hoped her sound quality would be the same. "Shiro! It's good to hear you alive, man." Seeing would be better, but Azra would take what she could get.

There was a relieved sigh on the other end of the line. "Azra. Likewise. Had no idea if you were in the City still or not. How are you? Where are you? This signal's bouncing off so many-"

Azra interrupted before he could get ahead of himself. "I'm good, I'm fine. We're rerouting the signal through a bunch of different locations. Hopefully we'll be out of here before the Fallen trace it back to us."

"We?" Shiro said, obvious hope in his voice.

Azra hurt to break it. "Me and Spark. We're alone. No word from Cayde since the Tower fell." There was gloomy silence on the feed for a heartbeat.

Azra moved on. One thing at a time. "Where are you? These coordinates… that's Fellwinter Peak, isn't that?"

"We're holed up in the Iron Temple with a bunch of civilians. The Fallen are feisty, but we're having an easy run of things. Lots of Guardians were here when the Light went away. What about you? What have you been up to?"

Azra told him everything. Everything. The attack, the cage, the dreams, the Fallen teleporter. When it was done, she sat out of breath and listened to the slight static on the comms.

"Damn," Shiro finally said. "That sounds like a Veera-shaped mess you've gotten yourself into."

"I haven't heard from her, either," Azra admitted.

"Where will you go?" Shiro said. "You're welcome here, if you can make the trek."

"West," Azra said. "It's just… I have to."

"I understand," Shiro said. "It's done a world of good just to hear from you again." He sighed. She could picture how his face must look just by the tone of his voice. Wistful, but relaxed. "When you go… will I? Hear from you again, that is."

She frowned and ran a hand over the control panel. It was nothing like grabbing his arm or leaning on his shoulder, but she could imagine. "I… I dunno. Systems like this aren't exactly common, Shiro."

"Figures," he muttered. There was nearly ten seconds of silence on the channel. It just wasn't fair, with Andal and Tevis gone and now Cayde missing in action. Who knew if Azra and Shiro would ever see each other again?

"If, if I find Cayde, I'll send him your way. If he'll go." Azra paused a moment and realized Cayde would definitely _not_ go. "Or we'll find something else like this and get a message back. I promise."

Shiro's voice was near-monotone. "If he turns up here, not that I'm expecting him to… well, I don't know how I would contact you."

Grief bit through the joy of the moment. "I… I really…"

"No,' he interrupted. "I understand. I'm sorry, I'm not angry at you."

"Really seems the universe has It out for us, huh?" Azra said dryly.

Shiro laughed. "I mean, when did it not?"

"Guess we have seen a run of it," Azra mused. "Remember that time in Ishtar we all got separated for like a week?"

Shiro joined right in the reminiscing. "Remember that mission in Mare Cognitum when we were absolutely sure Tevis had bit it?"

"And that big fight we had after Mare Ibrium?"

"And that time we got trapped underground in Old Chicago with the water coming in?"

"And the whole string of fun adventures when House Wolves was hunting us?"

"And that business with Elyksul?"

"And Taniks," Azra murmured.

"Don't forget Twilight Gap," Shiro said.

"Can't mark that one on the universe's record, it wasn't really _us_ yet, just _me_ and _you guys_."

"It was the beginning of it, I think," Shiro said. "Before that wall fell, you were like… just some newbie everyone liked. As far as anyone had considered, at least. You shoulda seen Andal when we realized your last known location has become a rubble heap. We had to focus on our Kell hunt, but _man_ everyone was tearing themselves up about it."

"I think that's what did it for me, too," Azra admitted. "I spent the whole night worrying. The first chance I got I checked up on you guys, and it was so… heavy, I guess, to deal with the fact I might not see you again."

"You know..." Shiro said evenly, "I miss you, but don't you dare let me shackle you with regret now. Too much is at stake. You need to go West? Go West. I'm the last person in the world who's going to tell you to stop."

Azra let the tension go. "I guess we'll have to wait and see what the future holds. Zavala's supposed to be out there, somewhere, rallying."

"I'll keep an ear out for that," Shiro said. "And take care of yourself. I want you back in one piece."

"Same to you, brother." She let easy enthusiasm bleed into her speech. "Oh, and if you need any tactical advantages- I'm 'bout to send out a signal. A powerful one. Fallen might get distracted trying to translate it."

"Copy," he said, a smile in his voice. "I _will_ see you again."

"Catch you on the flipside," Azra said. Spark cut the feed.

* * *

Thirty seconds later, the Hunter emerged from the building, moving low to stay concealed in the long grass. She paused once she was a distance away, head tilted as she spoke silently with her Ghost.

There was the bang of a transformer blowing, and a fair amount of smoke, but Spark caught the message they'd sent loud and clear. She hadn't added anything. Zavala's statement spoke for itself.

* * *

Message Log 001

Citizens of the Last City. Hear my words. We are abandoning the City. We have evacuated everyone we could, but the Cabal now hunt Guardians in the streets. If you are able, you should make for the wilds.

The Cabal have affixed a device to the Traveler and severed our connection to the Light. We cannot hold the City, and we cannot protect you.

We are setting a rally point elsewhere in the system. Watch for a broadcast. We will return to the City someday, but… I do not know when.

Be safe. Be brave.


	7. All That Is Gone

Well I would swim but the river is so wide  
And I'm scared I won't make it to the other side  
Well, God knows I've failed but He knows that I've tried  
I long for something that's safe and warm  
But all I have is all that is gone  
I'm as helpless and as hopeless as a feather on the Clyde

Feather on the Clyde – Passenger

* * *

For what felt like the first time in her life, Veera was alone. She'd woken up alone, dragged herself out of the City alone, and even now that she was at the Farm and had her Light back, the feeling of loneliness clung to her.

She had her Ghost, there was that. But more and more these days it seemed that just meant there were two of them to be alone. They were always together, and constant companions did not make for good company. Her Ghost missed the the other Ghosts- Sylas's Aine and Azra's Spark and Wahida's Thimble. Veera missed her Guardian friends and her fireteam. She missed Eris, Saladin, the Vanguard. She missed having someone around who had a clue what to do.

She'd gone into the Dark Forest seeking answers. She'd come out with her Light, but no fewer questions. Refugees were pouring in by the day, but the Vanguard was absent. The Traveler was caged and silent. The Speaker was nowhere to be found. Suraya Hawthorne was the closest thing Humanity had to a leader now, but she was no tactician and she was no Guardian. Now that Veera had her Light back, people looked to her for hope. She didn't know if she could offer any. She was alone. The sole Guardian savior.

That wasn't how it was supposed to work. Guardians were strong, individually, but they relied on the strength of their community. Veera couldn't do everything- but in situations where she would falter, there had always been someone else to step in. A scout to light her way, a rally point to fall back to, _something_. Or at least a shoulder to lean on, another hand to lighten the load. Veera had saved the world half a dozen times, but she hadn't done it alone.

Despite the City Militia and Hawthorne's people, Veera was confined to a fireteam of one. It was too dangerous to send mortal soldiers into the fights Veera fought, so the Warlock had to fight by herself. She was used to having the problems of the whole solar system in her grasp. Now she struggled with the troubles of one continent. She had to scavenge supplies and head off Red Legion incursions on her lonesome. Soon she'd have to set up a communication network, help make space for more refugees, try to find even a semi-permanent solution to the local Fallen incursions.

It would just be so much easier with someone else there.

* * *

Eleven days after the attack; The Farm, European Dead Zone, Earth

Veera didn't recognize her at first. The Human drew eyes naturally as she moved through the crowd. Guardians here and there stumbled, shifted, unsure of their own bodies now their strength was gone. But here was someone graceful and sure. A Hunter with a torn, yet familiar cloak.

Veera hoped for a moment. Azra's light had always been a bit… backwards. If anyone had a chance of remaining unaffected by the cage on the Traveler-

Veera's hope died when Azra removed her helmet. The Hunter had a split lip and a bruised cheekbone that was slowly spreading into a black eye. She had no more Light than the rest of the Guardians milling about. Her grace came from practice alone.

She didn't greet the Hunter at first. There was something different about her, something Veera wanted time and space to think on. Guardians and refugees streamed in daily, mostly by air or spaceship. They rarely came from the East, especially not overland like the Hunter had. Azra dropped her Sparrow off at the mechanic's, then paced back and forth like a caged tiger. There were dark circles under her eyes.

It was strange. Everyone here set their sights eastward, towards the Shard. Civilians looked to it with awe or concern. Guardians considered the sharp, jagged edges with wistful hope or unsettled frowns. Yet Azra ignored it. She had blown past it, seeming to not give it a second glance. When she contemplated the view, she looked west, toward the descending sun.

Shaxx greeted her. Azra nodded in respect. The Battlemaster pulled her into a conversation. Azra pulled away after a minute, pacing again.

It was clear she needed space. How anyone could need space after spending Traveler knows how long wandering alone, Veera didn't understand. She didn't need to understand to know the restlessness that kept Azra from reconnecting with the familiar faces here (or familiar helmets, in Shaxx's case).

* * *

Azra found it nearly impossible to sit still.

She thought she might have liked the Farm before all of this. There were engines and mechanics welding and transports rumbling over the ground, yes, but there was also grass. The air was fresh. No structures stood taller than the trees.

But now there were just too many people for her. It was ridiculous- she'd been in the bustling marketplaces not two weeks ago. Azra was reminded of her first few days coming back after the Vault, when sunlight and hot food had seemed so foreign. The Hunter had thrown herself into traveling without a second thought and now this reality of human community was alien. She'd spoken briefly to the Sparrow mechanic and had been surprised to find her own voice rough from disuse. She hadn't verbalized anything in four days. There hadn't been reason to.

She'd worked her way from the Cosmodrome across Eurasia, scavenging food and making rough camps every night. The beauty of its forests and mountains was stunning, as always. It seemed she got used to being alone very quickly. There was nobody to bother on the comms, no bounties or patrols to complete, just a direction: West. Her dreams hadn't gotten any less pressing now that she was out of the City.

So she'd gone west, and she'd shared her thoughts with her Ghost and she hadn't spoken. And now the sound of human voices made her skin itch. She felt cramped even with the sky open above her. The mechanic had said it would take an hour and a half to tune up her Sparrow and Azra just couldn't conceptualize wasting that much time.

She paced until she made all of the guards antsy, then stalked off to find to sit and try justifying cleaning her Sidearm again. It was hard to ignore the hollow urgency in her chest.

* * *

Veera found her a while later. A guard had told her of the unusually cagey Hunter who'd wandered past their perimeter and pointed her in the direction of the lake. The Arcstrider was sitting on the sand of a secluded inlet in the shelter of an old log. Her knees were drawn up to her chin. She was frowning.

She seemed to be lost in thought. She didn't even notice Veera until the Warlock started to sit next to her. Veera counted the emotions- Surprise turning to Confusion as she processed, Recognition, then Relief and Fondness. "You're alive," Azra said. "Me 'n Sylas figured you were gone."

"I very nearly died," Veera said. She watched the Joy sour on Azra's face, thoughts turning back to the Cityfall. "Ghaul- the leader of the Red Legion, their Dominus, threw me off of his ship, once the Light was gone."

"I fell off a Thresher," Azra volunteered. "I was… I could have helped. I was off taking down their Threshers, it didn't seem like you'd _need_ me."

"I did not realize you were in the City at all," Veera said.

"It was chance," Azra murmured. "I was shopping."

"What were you buying?" Veera asked.

"Dawning presents."

"Are you finally participating this year? I thought it was… how did you put it, a waste of your time?"

She fiddled with her gloves. "That doesn't stop people from giving _me_ gifts."

"I thought you told everyone to stop?"

"Well Banshee forgot, and Cayde is stubborn, and… why does this matter?" Her head turned away, bitterness creeping into her voice. "It's not important."

"You seemed like you could use a little distracting. Something is bugging you."

"Something more than the loss of the Light and the fall of the City?" Azra asked dryly.

"Yes," Veera replied.

She waited, watching the expressions on Azra's face. Once upon a time, she would have tried to hide her emotions, but they'd been through too much now. Azra's sarcasm faded, eclipsed by some greater trouble. That was a good word. She was troubled. Unseated. Veera had seen the Hunter shaken many times, seen her afraid, even. She'd never seen Azra stare at the horizon like it was about to eat her.

"I'm going somewhere," Azra explained. "I have to keep going. And the more I go, the more I wonder… I've seen Nightstalkers lose it," she took a sudden tangent. "I've seen people go too far into the Void, not wanna come back. I've seen people consumed by their own fire. I've even… I know what it means for a Bladedancer to go off-kilter. But… in my soul, I'm an Arcstrider. And nobody knows anymore what it means for an Arcstrider to go off the deep end."

She hugged her knees tighter. "What if this is it?" she whispered. "What if it's just me starting, and never stopping?"

"You are not an Arcstrider right now," Veera said. It was the wrong thing to say, by the grief on Azra's face. Veera tried again. "You can't lose yourself if there is nothing to get lost in. You are working towards… something," Veera didn't know what, but she understood motivation when she saw it. "And it is not like-"

"I've been _happy_ ," Azra cut in, sounding disgusted. "Yes, I'm upset about the City, and everyone who's died and is dying and will die. I miss Shiro and Cayde sorely. I'm scared, because I know how easy it is to die, and man, it would really suck to just go off and croak while there's people that need me. But I've been happy. On my own. Leaving everything behind me wherever I go. Never seeing the same thing twice."

"I am _glad_ you can find a bright spot in this," Veera said. "Everything is horrible. We have lost so many people and so much hope. I will take any joy you have to offer."

"I stayed in the City for days," Azra said. "Evacuating, scrounging supplies, I could have done more good there. But I left and I'm glad I'm not there anymore. I keep dreaming of the coast when I should be thinking of the people I might have left to die."

"You have been dreaming?" Veera said.

Azra shivered in the warm breeze. "They've always been a bit weird, but recent? I can't ignore 'em. They cling."

Veera leaned close, wrapping an arm around the once-Arcstrider and kindling a bit of Solar for warmth. Azra relaxed automatically into the heat.

Then she stiffened and pulled back, eyes wide. "Do that again," she commanded.

Veera conjured Flame in her hand obligingly. Azra stared at the fire like she was seeing a ghost.

"I had dreams, too," Veera said. "And I continue to have them. I followed where they lead, and they lead me here. To this, and to the Farm, and to you. It does not need always to be a trap, Azra. Having trust does not always blow up in your face."

"I trust _people_ ," Azra emphasized. "I trust _things_. How am I supposed to trust… something I can't even feel the shape of? Something so nebulous I can't find words for it?"

"I think that would be called having faith," Veera said.

There was a minute where there was nothing but the wind whistling in the trees and the lap of the water on the shore.

"I've questioned everything in my life," Azra said. "Everything. How do I stop?"

"You should never stop," Veera said. "I have always considered it a strength of yours."

"Strength one way, weakness another," Azra muttered. "I've run so far this time I don't know if I can find my way home."

"You found your way here," Veera offered. Azra just shrugged noncommittally.

Veera let the silence stew for a moment. The wind was a gentle caress on her bare face. "If you decided to not do… whatever this is you are doing," she began, "what would you do instead?"

"I'd start," Azra whispered, barely audible over the wind. "I'd go. And I'd never stop."

"Then why are you doing this instead of that?"

A pause. Azra drew a deep, shuddering breath in. "I'm doing it… because I _want_ there to be something out there. I don't want that to be the future, where the Cabal roll over us and everyone dies and I can't do anything to help. I want to find a chance for us." She seemed a little less shaken now. "And… I think something out there is offering it."

"Fighting for a better tomorrow is always worth it," Veera said.

"I don't believe in miracles," Azra stated. She sounded so sad about it.

Veera considered the look on Azra's face. Gone was the fear, maybe, but unsettled she remained. Veera doubted that she would relax until she achieved her goal. "You have done so much. I think you deserve one. Maybe whatever is out there thinks that, too." Hadn't Veera found one, after all? And if Veera could regain her strength when she'd never known defeat or weakness before, certainly Azra could. She had survived Twilight Gap, she'd survived the Vault of Glass. Surely she was an old hand now at finding Light in the Darkness.

The water lapped gently on the shore. Azra unfolded from herself a little bit. Her legs stretched out and she leaned back.

"Stay for lunch," Veera offered. "And restock on supplies." Azra looked ready to protest that last command. Veera shook her head sternly. "On my purse. Consider it a downpayment on that miracle you are chasing."

"I'll take the supplies," Azra said, "but I've wasted enough time already. I wanted to get into the mountains by nightfall."

"Do you know where you're headed, at least?"

Azra nodded. "Shouldn't take more than a few days to get there. Only two and a half thousand klicks. Though taking a Sparrow at top speed might not be the best idea, plus all the Cabal mucking about… give it a week, at least, before I'm back."

"Take my ship," Veera said impulsively.

Azra shook her head. "You need it."

"I have my Light back; I can go steal another. This way..." Veera shifted closer, grabbing one of Azra's hands in hers. The Hunter stared at her trapped appendage but didn't pull away. "You can be there and back before sunset. Light or no Light, I need you." She felt her face heat up in embarrassment as she corrected herself. "We. We need you."

Azra grinned, that way that seemed to gather starlight in her eyes. "I _missed_ you," she said fondly. She said it like it was the biggest compliment she could give. Veera supposed that maybe it was.

"Take my comms link, too," the Warlock insisted. "Or- better yet, let me introduce you to Suraya Hawthorne. She can get you your own."

Ghost poofed into existence over Veera's shoulder. "Hawthorne is still out scouting. You'll have to wait."

Azra frowned at that. "The mechanic should be done with my Sparrow in…" she glanced at her own Ghost.

"Five minutes ago," the machine helpfully replied.

Azra stood. And though Veera had seen Azra shake off the doubt and guilt, the itching impatience remained in her posture. "I don't want to get there after dark."

"You could spend the night," Veera offered. "Wait until tomorrow."

"Every day is people dying," Azra said. "And I don't like sitting still."

"I suppose there is no argument I can make against that," Veera murmured. "Resupply yourself then, and take my ship, and..." she took the Hunter's hand once again. "Come back in one piece, alright?"

"I'll try," Azra said. "I can't tell the future, Veera, but I'll be damned if I won't at least try." It made Veera feel better somehow to see the pain in Azra's expression. "Keep the kettle on for me, would you?"

Letting go was harder than fighting off a dozen Red Legion soldiers, but Veera did it. Azra Jax, she had learned, was not someone you were supposed to hold back.

* * *

Azra made her way to the mechanic's to pick up her Sparrow, then to the tiny airfield where Veera's Ghost had said the ship was waiting.

For the first time in nearly a week, Azra turned back to look over her shoulder. Maybe after this, she could stick around long enough to get accustomed to the Farm. It had a nice sky, and the vista of the Shard was stunning.

Her view was cut off when Spark raised the ramp. Azra steeled herself and took the pilot's chair.

"Can't turn back now," she murmured.

_You with me?_

_I'm here._

* * *

TYPE: Transcript.  
DESCRIPTION: Conversation.  
PARTIES: Two [2]. One [1] Civilian-type, designate Suraya Hawthorne [sh]; One [1] Guardian-type, Class Warlock, designate Veera [v]  
ASSOCIATIONS: Contemplation [Earth]; The Dark Forest [Earth]; European Dead Zone [Earth]; The Farm [Earth]; Hawthorne, Suraya; Jax, Azra; Red War; The Shard; Veera  
/AUDIO UNAVAILABLE/  
/TRANSCRIPT FOLLOWS.../

[sh:01]: Excuse me. You what?

[v:01]: I gave it to Azra.

[sh:02]: Comms links like that don't grow on trees.

[v:02]: She needed it.

[sh:03]: And where is she, again?

[v:03]: … She did not say exactly where-

[sh:04]: So you gave your comms link to a random Hunter, who ran off with it?

[v:04]: She is no random Hunter. I know you have not kept up with City news, but Azra Jax-

[sh:05]: Took the valuable technology and dropped off the face of the planet. Doesn't matter who she is.

[v:05]: I have every confidence she will return.

[sh:06]: When?

[v:06]: She did not mention that, either. Sometime tonight or tomorrow.

[sh:07]: This girl better be something else.

[v:07]: She has killed several gods. She will be back.

[sh:08]: If you say so.


	8. Take Me Down

There's something in my heart  
And it feels like fire  
There's a yearnin' in the river  
And it feels like home  
Take me down, take me down to the water  
I need time  
Give me time

Feels Like Home – Caamp

* * *

Eleven days after the attack; Contemplation, Old Portugal, Earth

The weather was clear today. Not a cloud marked the achingly blue sky. The shrubs and grasses in the untended fields behind her rattled in the breeze. The waves crashed against the rocks in their usual dance. It could have been any other day on Azra's cliffside.

But it wasn't any other day. It was today. That fact made Azra's heart beat just a little bit faster. The vertigo of looking over the drop was just a little bit stronger. The stakes were high now. Just the fall could provide a credible threat to her life- the one life she still had left. Still, she stood at the very edge. Fragments of half-remembered dreams chased her thoughts in circles.

"This is crazy. You know this is crazy, right?" The wind kicked up fiercer against her back, pushing her weight ever so slightly forward, to the balls of her feet, towards the cliff edge…

"I'm really having second thoughts about this."

"We came all this way." It was literally the end of the line. There was no more West left to go. Just a drop off at what may as well have been the end of the world. Azra wondered how early Humans must have felt, or those living just after the Collapse, staring out at the infinity of the impassible ocean.

Spark hovered in front of her. "We can turn around if we want. Take the ship back to the Farm."

Azra frowned. "Can we?" She felt more and more these days like a train on a track, screaming towards some final conclusion.

"Guardians make their own fate."

"I'm not a Guardian right now." It hurt to say, but it was true.

"You'll always be one. Light or no. City or no. I can't think of anyone more deserving of that title."

"Titles or no, I've got no Paracausality. No fate-making."

"But you can still turn around."

"Do we _want_ to?"

There was silence. They stared at the water together. They'd spent a lot of time staring at this particular ocean. They came here often when they needed to think, gazing out at the waves and somehow never questioning what lay _below_ them.

Azra spoke first. "Remember that first raid at the Lab?"

"Of course."

"And Twilight Gap."

"The Vault." They shuddered together at that one.

"The A-Team strike. And the Panama Ravine."

"Mare Ibrium."

"I think after all that falling, this time… I want to _jump_."

"We have no idea what's down there. We can't defy gravity anymore, not since-"

"I know."

"You don't _need_ to jump off this cliff. There's really no reason to. And a hundred not to. Even if you don't get hurt, you'll have to climb back up again…"

"I know."

"And there could be rocks at the bottom. You could die, for real. For _nothing_."

"I know."

"So why? Why here? Why now?"

"I think it's what I'm supposed to do. The dreams-"

"I don't want to lose you."

"I'm not gonna die."

"How do you know that?"

"I just do." She turned to her Ghost, cupping her hands around him. "Listen. I know it sounds crazy, that I'm out here because of some weird visions, and that I'm so confident that there's anything at all here for me. I have no idea what waits for me underneath the water. But I was led here by the Traveler. _We_ were led here by the Traveler."

"So you're going to jump off a cliff."

"Not just any cliff. My cliff. Our cliff."

"Why couldn't it have been a sand dune or something?" the Ghost lamented. "Or a snowbank? Or a giant pile of pillows?"

"Will you come with me?"

Spark sighed and turned to survey the drop. "Of course I will."

She held him close, closed her eyes and bumped her forehead against his shell. "Best Ghost."

She took a few steps back for a running start, bouncing on her toes and half-hoping some Fallen would appear and force her hand. There was still that niggling voice of doubt in her head that said she was going to fall to her death.

With a breath, she let go of her fear. Her feet started forward almost of their own accord. Then the stone dropped away and there was nothing but dark water beneath her. She waved her arms so she would enter feet-first, took a deep breath, and-

The water was _cold._ Azra choked for a second, losing some of her air. She grasped irrationally at the bubbles as she sank through the water. After a second she gave up, watching them run through her fingers and looking up at the light shining on the sea's surface. It was quiet. Spark floated next to her.

_Huh._ She thought numbly as the seconds ticked by to no affect. _I really thought there'd be something down here._ She'd never quite figured out _what_ she expected, but it wasn't silence and endless cold water and the sunlight getting dimmer above her.

So. Did she feel regret for jumping off of a cliff? If she swam up now, she might be able to make it back to the sur-

Her back hit something big and smooth, knocking more bubbles from her. She turned, hands tingling as she placed them on the surface. The unseen force of an incoming wave pushed her back slightly. Her eyes stung from the salt.

The smooth white curve sat propped among the boulders of the seafloor. Light from the sun played across its surface, complementing the Light that danced within.

It was definitely too late to swim up now, but the force of the currents was pushing her away from the alabaster shard. She thrashed against the waves' pushes, cursing her past self for not removing the boots and hood. They weighed her down. Spark had no such issues. He drifted towards the broken shard of the Traveler's shell, between it and Azra.

Azra expelled the last of the air trying to call to him, reaching out.

There was a sensation of stars aligning, watch gears fitting into place, as Spark came directly between herself and the Shard. A syzygy. Light shimmered close, just below its surface.

_Everything'll be all right_ , Spark whispered in her head as she screamed in desperation, and then the ocean lit up with a blinding flash.

* * *

Azra's head broke the surface and she took in a shuddering breath of air. Then she let out a triumphant "WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Her shout echoed off the cliffside and the sea. A wave swamped her as she took another breath, but she came up laughing. The world was no longer a hollow place. Her body was filled with a sunburst of energy (whether from the Light or the cold water), driving her beating heart fast. Spark burst through the surface, showering her with seawater. She splashed him in turn, setting off a small water war between Guardian and Ghost.

Eventually, though, the sun started to descend and the cold water began to take effect. Still Azra couldn't keep the grin off her face as she swam with powerful strokes to the cliffside.

"Climbing is so much easier when you can defy gravity," she remarked as they began their way up the granite wall.

"Climbing is very easy when you can just fly," her Ghost replied.

* * *

_The two of them carefully climb the wall, every movement deliberate. One floats invisibly a few feet from the expanse. The other half goes by hand and foot, scaling the cliffside. They reach the door, take out a sidearm (three bullets), and shoot the controls once. They grab the person inside and start running._

* * *

She paused in her climbing. "That… didn't happen for a while, huh."

"We'll really have to schedule some time to look into all of these mysteries," Spark said in a businesslike tone.

"I think we can take a few days once we get the Traveler free." Azra hauled herself over the cliff's edge, not needing to let her body rest before standing up. It was a freeing feeling, being superhuman again.

"I'm not taking anything less than an all-expenses paid trip to the Reef," Spark said, "including meals."

Azra turned her gaze heavenward, but even if the stars were out, she'd have a hard time seeing the Awoken structures without a very powerful telescope. "Wonder how they're doing," she murmured.

"Well, we can't help them," Spark said. "But we can still help the City."

"It'll be night there soon," Azra said, turning her face to judge the Sun's angle.

Spark caught her train of thought. "You want to sneak back in?"

"I promised Sylas I'd be back. I might have been lying then, but I don't have to _stay_ a liar."

"Let me rephrase. You want to sneak back in right now?"

"Well," Azra began, laying out her logic as she wrung saltwater from her cloak. "It's probably going to be a full day before we could get the comms system set up, and if we head back to the Farm now it'll be dark by the time we could double back for the City. And we have a comms link right now…"

"No need to keep them waiting," Spark mused. "And it won't be so much of a danger with our Light, especially since we're alone."

"And you _know_ Veera would insist coming with. She's not good at… covert ops. You know, being quiet and not blowing things up."

"Admit it," Spark teased. "You see more West and you want to keep going."

"…It's a factor," Azra said with a small smile.

"So long as we're being honest."

* * *

Evening, Eleven days after the attack; The Last City, Earth

The City looked different to Azra. The fires had gone out, the dust had settled. The Cabal were everywhere still, but it felt more now like an occupation than an invasion. Everything was quieter. Nothing moved.

It wasn't just that. It looked different because _she_ was different. She hid herself more for convenience's sake than to preserve her life. The element of surprise that a Guardian (or two) had found the Light again wasn't well spent on a routine patrol group. She figured if she got caught out of cover she'd just play dead until the Cabal left.

But she could turn invisible now. She could hold her breath for a long time, leap from rooftop to rooftop, fall from heights without having to worry about broken ankles or dislocated shoulders. Stepping back into her Lightless habits had been like putting on a broken-in pair of shoes. This was like stripping off all of her sweaty armor after a long day of work. She was free.

Finding the Resistance hideout wasn't hard if you knew how to look (and if you had a radio with the right security protocols). She still checked her radar, she still waited for half an hour to make sure she wasn't followed, but she let herself be a little confident.

The hideout was currently located in the upper offices of a steel recycling plant. Azra climbed the catwalks quietly, keeping an eye on the enormous crucibles below. They had long since cooled, but Azra could imagine what the place would look like bathed in the orange-yellow glow of molten metal. The tang of burnt slag still hung heavy in the air.

Azra's Lightsense led her down a corridor to a conference room. She paused at the door, unsure, before shaking aside her nerves and knocking.

"Come in?" sounded the slightly confused voice of one of the occupants.

Azra turned the handle and let the door swing open, giving her time to take in the room. The windows were all boarded up from the evening sun. The space was lit by lanterns instead. There were five people at the cramped table, looking up to stare at her. The only one she even vaguely recognized was an elderly woman seated at the head of the table.

"You must be Eva Levante," Azra said.

"Come in, come in!" Eva replied, smiling. "It is always good to see a new face."

Azra shut the door behind her and moved to stand behind one of the empty chairs. "My name's Azra," she supplied. "I bring news from the EDZ."

"Sit down, dear," Eva said. "That is a long way away! You must be tired from such a journey."

Azra wasn't, but she sat anyway. The table was covered in maps and supply lists. Azra pulled off her helmet and set it on a stack of leaflets. "Let's not waste time on pleasantries," she began. "There's a big gathering of survivors in the EDZ. They've been picking up refugees from the City when they can find them. I've brought-" she fumbled with her comms link, setting it on the table like an offering. "They're supposed to finish setting up their comms system in the next few days. I got you this. Should make talking a bit easier, and discreet."

"That is very good news," Eva said. "And quite unexpected."

"Sylas did say she was heading out to make contact with the outside world," the person to her left (a Hunter) said. "Guess he was telling the truth."

"Sylas always tells the truth. Even when it's not smart," Azra replied.

"Thank you for this," the Hunter said, taking the comms device and turning it over in his hands. "It's a big risk, sneaking back into the City. A big one sneaking back out, too."

"Of course you're welcome to stay," Eva said. "Transportation out will be safer if we can organize evacuations with the other survivors."

"That won't be necessary," Azra demurred. "It's not as big of a deal. I can travel quiet if it's just me."

"Spend the night, at least. We have space," a Titan across the table said. "They are more lax during the daytime. And you must be tired."

Veera would practically vibrate herself apart with worry if Azra was too late. The Hunter shook her head. "Really, I'm fine."

"What is it with Fireteam Dauntless?" the Hunter asked. "Sylas wouldn't sleep, either. It's like… you-"

He trailed off in amazement as Azra gave up and pulled her invisibility trick. It was as easy as holding her breath. She reappeared after a few seconds to stunned silence.

"You-" the Hunter began.

Azra sighed and pulled a Solar throwing knife, a much more obvious tool of the Light. It shone bright in the dim space, casting a flickering orange on the assembled faces and helmets of the people around her. Azra twirled it between her fingers for a second before extinguishing it and folding her hands in front of her. "That's the other bit of news," she said.

"How?" breathed the Warlock to her right.

"Only two people have regained the Light," Azra said, feeling the immediate sense of crushed hope like bitter tea tannins in the air. "Me, and the Warlock Veera."

The Titan shook his head. "THE Veera?"

"Yeah," Azra said. "The Farm- that's the refugee-place in the EDZ, is real close to a giant Shard of the Traveler. Others have gone seeking. Only Veera's come back. I got mine from a Shard near where I was Raised. Haven't heard a whisper of anyone else."

"Damn," the Hunter swore.

"I know," Azra said sympathetically. "But at least there's a possibility, right? Even if it's a dangerous one."

"I'm glad you came to visit, even if you can't stay," Eva Levante said. "It is easier to hope, knowing you are out there."

"Well, tomorrow we'll get this set up, and then…" Azra trailed off, realizing she had no clue what they'd do next. "We'll work on getting everyone evacuated, I guess. There's been no word from Zavala or the Vanguard."

"Any word from Sylas?" The Hunter asked.

Azra tilted her head in confusion. "Why would _I_ have heard from him?" She was surprised he wasn't at this meeting, in fact.

The Hunter and Eva shot each other a look. "Sylas left two days after you did," he said carefully. "He said he was going after you."

* * *

Morning, Twelve days after the attack; The Farm, European Dead Zone, Earth

Veera slept unsoundly. She paced, she meditated, but her brain refused to quiet. If it wasn't Azra she was worried about, it was Zavala, or Ikora, or Sylas, or a dozen other Guardians. If it wasn't her friends, it was the coming mission. If it wasn't the comms system, it was the City.

Eventually she visited Tyra Karn. The once-Warlock made some very soothing tea. Veera managed to fall into a fitful state of unconsciousness early in the morning.

She woke with her heart in her throat. She cast about immediately, but there was no sign of Azra: no note, not even a ping from her Ghost.

The Warlock took the time to make herself presentable. Her Ghost soothed her as she washed her face, brushed and pinned back her hair, straightened her robes. By the time she'd tied on her bond and made her way downstairs, she'd almost convinced herself that maybe today would go alright. There was work to do. It would be a good distraction.

She stepped into the early morning sun and took a deep breath. The world seemed fresh and clean, ripe with possibility. Morning dew glittered in the grass.

"She was supposed to be back by now," Veera said.

"Maybe she is," her Ghost replied. "If we were Azra Jax, where would we be?"

* * *

The screen of trees did a lot to muffle the sounds of early-morning transports. The little cove on the lake was undeniably peaceful. There were still traces of fog burning off in the sunlight. It gave the place a mystic air to it.

Azra Jax was also peaceful, sitting on the log. She didn't start or flinch when Veera stepped close. Instead she turned her head to look up at the Warlock, smooth as the lake-ripples against the sand. "You looked like you could use some more sleep," she explained.

"When did you get back?" Veera asked.

The Hunter shrugged. "Oh, maybe about three hours ago? I… took a stop by the City. I told Sylas I would come back with news, and now that I had news…"

"Did it work?"

"Huh?" Azra looked confused for a second. "Oh. The Shard thing. Yeah." She rolled electricity between her fingers in that familiar lazy way. She shrugged again, like it wasn't a big deal.

"That is good," Veera said. She couldn't deny the relief that sang in her veins. Not all of it was for Azra's safety. The problems on the horizon would have been so hard to tackle alone. "How _is_ Sylas?"

Azra frowned and looked back out to the lake. "No idea. I spoke with him before I left the City- the first time, that is. I told him that I was going to scope out how the outside world was dealing and report back. He's not there now. They said he went looking for me a few days ago. MIA."

That's what had the Arcstrider so down. Veera herself was crestfallen to hear her Titan friend was missing- but at least he had been confirmed alive a few days ago. That was much more than could be said for most Guardians. "He is hardly the only person MIA right now," Veera said.

Azra grimaced. "Yeah, but this one kinda feels like my fault."

Veera crossed her arms and contemplated the view. "Sylas is an adult and he can make his own choices," she reminded the Hunter.

Azra sighed. "I guess. Not much use in worrying about it now."

There was so much else to worry about. The comms network, the missing Vanguard, the Fallen resurgence… and the bags under Azra's eyes. "Is there any use in attempting to convince you to sleep?" Veera asked.

Azra stood abruptly, like she was afraid of even looking tired. "Not if there's stuff to do," she said. "I'm still antsy."

"You are almost as stubborn as Sylas sometimes," Veera mused. The Hunter smiled apologetically. Veera shook off the nostalgia. "We have someone to introduce you to."


	9. Everyone Knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a little something to read while waiting to load in, yes?  
> Life's been crazy lately. I'm still writing, no worries.

Don't look so shocked  
Don't judge so harsh  
You don't know  
You are only spying  
Everyone knows it's going to hurt  
But at least we'll get hurt trying

Firewood – Regina Spektor

* * *

Morning, Twelve days after the attack; The Farm, European Dead Zone, Earth 

Azra followed Veera back from the cove towards civilization. Perhaps that word needed mental quotes. 'Society' was not the idea that came to Azra's head when she looked at the Farm. Everything was so… temporary. The tables were all foldable, the road was just a dusty path worn through the grass, and there were crates and lanterns scattered everywhere. When Azra closed her eyes she could practically _taste_ the heady desperation in the air, the sharp tang of determination, the drowning feeling of loss upon loss upon loss-

She shook herself free from the sensations and jogged to catch up with her Warlock companion. Veera didn't need to shoulder her way through the throngs of people; they parted before her like water before a ship. Azra trailed in the wake, shrugging under the uncomfortably curious eyes of passers-by.

The two made their way inside the rickety old barn and up the stairs. Someone had set up a nest of sorts in the loft- nothing fancy, just a pallet for a bed and a few tables cluttered with equipment. The view from the window was nice.

A woman was currently seated at one of the tables. There was not a whiff of Light about her, though she wore what Azra would classify as Hunter garb. Her brown hair was pulled back under a hood. Though her face was clean, there was dried mud in the creases in her boots and gloves, evidence of travel or work. Really the only thing that was missing was a cape. The stranger was fiddling with some old radio, but she stopped and stood as the two Guardians took their last few steps up the creaky stairs. "I'm all set here-" she began. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she took in the two of them. "Who's this?"

"This," Veera said (a bit too imperiously), "Is Azra Jax. We spoke of her earlier. Azra," the Warlock nudged the Hunter with an elbow, "This is Suraya Hawthorne. She is the leader of the Farm."

The Mortal sized up the new Guardian, making no attempt to hide her skepticism. Azra had to admit her glare was pretty sharp. "Where's my comms link?" Hawthorne asked.

Azra scratched the back of her neck in a nervous gesture. "Oh. Uh. I no longer have it?"

Hawthorne rolled her eyes. "Great. What'd you do, drop it in the ocean?"

"… Technically?" Azra said. Spark had been holding it, and she _had_ kind of dropped _him_ into the ocean-

The Ghost appeared as if summoned by her thoughts. "Ignore that," he dismissed, "She's just being confusing. We just came back from a trip to the Last City- we left the comms device with the Resistance there."

"Felt like they'd have more use of it," Azra mumbled, self-conscious.

Hawthorne eyed the small machine with suspicion but took his explanation nonetheless. "Fine. Let's go. Daylight's wasting." She brushed past the two Guardians and grabbed a beat-up sniper rifle that was leaning against the wall. The Guardians looked at each other, shrugged, and followed her as she clomped down the stairs.

If Veera in the crowds was a ship parting the waters, Hawthorne was a needle pulling a thread. She moved through the throngs in that self-assured Cityperson manner. It left Veera and Azra hurrying to keep up.

People became more sparse as they approached the Farm's small airfield, allowing the two Guardians to finally draw even with the Mortal. She began immediately with a debrief. "I don't know if you want to bring a Lightless Guardian on this mission," Suraya began casually. "Devrim has the signal booster we need but he's holed up in some pretty hostile territory."

"I can handle hostile territory," Azra said. "And if _he_ can survive-"

"Devrim is more than used to it. _He_ didn't just get all of his powers taken away. Since, you know, he never had any to begin with," Suraya said coolly. "Even then, he's hiding in a fortified location. Fighting through both the Cabal and the Fallen to get to him? Might not be so easy. That's why we're sending the immortal Warlock in."

Veera shook her head. "You miss the point," she said wryly. "Azra has regained the Light."

"You, too?" Suraya asked, sizing the Hunter up again.

"That's _not_ the point," Azra muttered. She'd survived the City even without her Light. The EDZ would be a piece of cake in comparison. She twirled a Solar knife between her fingers and noted the way the Human's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Well," Hawthorne said lightly, "That changes things."

* * *

Twelve days after the attack; Trostland, European Dead Zone, Earth 

The plan was to sneak through the enemy forces without raising too many alarms, find Devrim Kay, pick up the signal booster he had scavenged, and deliver it to Suraya Hawthorne, who was taking the short way around to the top of the salt mines. A simple enough mission on the face of it-

Or it would have been, had the Cabal not recently finished their fleetbase. They apparently objected to the Fallen presence in Trostland. There was already a minor firefight occurring when Azra and Veera transmatted down, and unfortunately neither the Cabal nor the Fallen were so invested in their own fight as to ignore two humans walking through.

So the two Guardians shrugged and did what Guardians do: blow up and/or shoot everything until it stops moving. Ask questions later.

When the dust settled, Veera finally got a chance to take stock of the situation. It was a beautiful day. Wispy clouds huddled on the horizon but none dared edge on the sun's glory. The sky was a washed-out blue. Leaves rustled in the breeze and old buildings and walls cast sharp-edged shadows on the street.

Trostland had seen better days. There were Golden-Age structures, even pre-Golden-Age ones, but they were in obvious disrepair. The Dark Age structures- barricades, mostly, some scaffolding and hasty shelters- were in even worse shape.

Veera took a minute to soak it all in. The sparse trees cast dappled shade. Crumbling stone and rusted metal were the main building blocks of this place, dotted with sickly-looking grass that wove between cracks in the pavement. In certain places nature was taking over completely, walls knocked over and floors grown over with shrubs while trees spread their branches where the roofs used to be.

She noted to herself that the bodies of Cabal and Fallen didn't seem out-of-place. If anything, they added to the décor. This seemed like the kind of street you'd find dead combatants on. Likewise, her companion did not draw eyes. Her gear was still tattered, salt-stained and dirty, but this was a tattered world.

She did draw ears, however. She was seated on the top of a low wall, swearing profusely as she fiddled with her sidearm.

"Do I stand out?" Veera asked, spreading her arms.

Azra took a second to look up from her work. Her eyes swept up and down Veera's attire. "You're _purple_ ," was all she said. Veera frowned and looked down at her robes. It was true that it was not the most natural hue, but she liked the purple. Surely yellow or red would stand out more?

"It's a loss," Azra announced. Her Ghost hovered low and took the gun from her hands. "I _liked_ that sidearm." She seemed more upset at the loss of her weapon than she had at the loss of her Light.

"Do you have another?" Veera asked.

In response, Azra slung a shotgun across her back and scowled. She stomped over to the dead Captain, rooted around, and pulled out a Shock Pistol.

"It is just a gun," Veera soothed.

"It had _dragonfly spec_ ," Azra moaned. "Where am I gonna find another sidearm with dragonfly spec in these times?" She checked the magazine on the Fallen gun and grimaced.

A new voice spoke on the comms. It was a moderate baritone, accented and humorous. "If it's City-made weaponry you're after, you might just be in luck."

Azra spun and cast about for its source. Veera looked around with a more casual air. One friendly Human did not seem like much of a threat. She noticed the glitter of a gun's scope in the upper window of a building a few hundred meters away.

Azra had caught it too. She relaxed and swore. "Damn. You _had_ us."

"Ah, I'd never fire upon friendly Guardians." There was a teasing air to the words.

"I assume you are this 'Devrim' we were told to find?" Veera asked. "I am eager to be moving."

"That would be me," Devrim confirmed. "Come on up and we'll see about the signal booster… and your sidearm. I scavenged a few interesting pieces off of some downed Guardians near Gheleon's Watch."

* * *

Azra had not been to this part of the European Dead Zone in years. It had always been a 'nothing living goes here' sort of Dead, rather than the 'going here is asking for death' variety of Dead. There just wasn't much of interest besides the Shard. Some old crumbling structures, broken roads; clearly a residential district with nothing worth looting.

Veera led the way towards their contact's chosen nest. He'd set up in an old church. It was in better shape than the buildings around it. The wooden structures inside had long since rotted away, but the outer stone walls stood firm. It wouldn't forever; already lichen crusted the rock and ivy plants snaked their way up the sides and over the roof. Young trees tested the foundations with their roots.

But for now it stood. There were even a few stained-glass windows intact, which Azra couldn't help but stop and marvel at. There was something to admire in the existence of something so beautiful and so fragile in the wilds. Entire cities had been laid to ruin in the Collapse, but these paper-thin panes had somehow survived their trials.

Veera dragged her onwards, up a ramp of gravel and dirt and on to a half-eaten upper floor. A quite well-established sniper's nest greeted them. A small cot in the corner, various bits of tech scattered on tables and the tops of supply crates. It had a bit of a ramshackle feel to it, but everything seemed functional.

The sniper himself was like his gear: old, but in good repair. He was trim and fit-looking, despite the gray working through his hair and the crow's feet showing around his eyes. He turned and leaned against the wall as the two Guardians made their way up. His grip on his rifle spoke of decades of experience.

"I saw the show you two put on there," he said in greeting. "Quite impressive."

Veera blushed, because of course she did. (You'd think a literal god-slayer wouldn't be so easy to flatter.)

"Devrim Kay the Eighth," the man introduced himself. "Former City Militia."

"I am Veera," the Warlock said, "Suraya Hawthorne told us about you."

"Likewise," the Militiaman said. "It is good to put a face to all the stories. I'm glad to have you on our side. Especially in these times."

Azra pulled off her helmet so the marksman could see her features. "Azra Jax," she said. "And that's Spark." She gestured to where her Ghost was busy taking pictures of the windows.

"Oh, no need for introductions there," Devrim said slyly. "It's quite an honor to meet a hero of Twilight Gap."

Twilight Gap seemed too close these days, despite the temporal distance. "The word 'hero' might be pushing it," Azra dismissed.

"I consider myself somewhat of an amateur historian," Devrim explained. "I've always been fascinated with The Gap. Your name does tend to come up. I'd simply love to ask you some questions-"

A Skiff scuttling by overhead cut him off. The three of them crouched in silence until it trundled on out of earshot.

"Another time, perhaps," Devrim said, seeming to collect himself.

"I don't know what I could tell you that a history book couldn't," Azra offered in apology. "I wasn't even three yet, then. I helped run tactical for bits but for most of the battle I was very ground-level."

"On the contrary, it's those smaller, more human moments I find where the real history lies," Devrim said. "Perhaps some time I will make you a cup of tea and you can give me your take."

* * *

" _It's called tea," Andal explained. "Just sip it- it's hot."_

_Azra did so, screwing her face up at the unexpectedly bitter flavor. But there were things underneath it, motes of spices and subtler tones of flavors she had no names for, that turned the bitterness into something… more._

" _Here, I can put some sugar in-" Andal offered, reaching for the mug._

_Azra clutched it possessively. "No. It's good."_

* * *

"…I'd like that," Azra said.

The militiaman shook off his reverie. "But for now, there's business to get down to. Suraya warned me you'd be coming through to pick up the signal booster." He turned to rummage through a crate in the corner. Azra took the opportunity to scope out the sightlines from his window. It had a commanding view of the plaza and the ravine.

"Are you quite done?" Devrim asked, humor tinging his voice. Azra had gotten a little carried away, halfway out the window and only one foot on the ground.

Azra nearly hit her head on the windowframe in her haste to get back inside. Now it was her turn to blush. If Veera was too easy to flatter, it seemed Azra was too easy to embarrass. "Good perch," she said, hoping brevity would cover her awkwardness.

Devrim seemed to be taking it in stride. "Thank you. I believe this might suit your needs?" He held out a small handgun, keeping it down and carefully pointed away from their feet despite the fact that it was obviously unloaded.

* * *

**Last Hope**

_Remember what you fight for._

* * *

Azra took it and let Spark give it a thorough going-over. It did indeed have dragonfly spec, even if it was a three-burst model instead of the single-shot she usually preferred. He'd cleaned it but Spark could detect traces of its former owner's blood on the casing.

 _It's a hell of a lot better than a Shock Pistol_ , Spark reminded her. Azra did her best to school the thoughtful frown from her features. "This… will do. Thank you."

"You can thank me by getting this comms relay set up. Time is of the essence, I'm afraid."

Veera took the cue to go. "Thank you for your help. We will be back."

"You know," Azra said casually, "Unless we die. Or you die."

She got a hard elbow in the ribs from Veera, but it was worth it. Devrim winked and turned back to his window. Veera and Azra left down the ramp.

* * *

TYPE: LIVE COMBAT FEED  
PARTIES: Three [3]. One [1] Guardian-type, Class Hunter, designate Azra Jax [aj]; One [1] Guardian-type, Class Warlock, designate Veera [v]; One [1] Ghost-type, designate Spark [s]  
ASSOCIATIONS: European Dead Zone [Earth]; Hawthorne, Suraya; Jax, Azra; Last City [Earth]; Veera  
/AUDIO UNAVAILABLE/  
/TRANSCRIPT FOLLOWS.../

[aj:01]: Me and Hawthorne aren't going to get along.

[v:01]: You have given up already?

[aj:02]: It's just an observation.

[v:02]: Resignation.

[aj:03]: A warning. I can already tell she's gonna get under my skin.

[v:03]: I would have thought you two would get along. You both have that…

[aj:04]: Don't look at me like that. We have what?

[v:04]: Well, that 'screw society' vibe, if you will forgive my language.

[s:01]: 'Screw' is a curse word?

[aj:05]: Maybe she meant 'society'.

[v:05]: You are getting away from the point. Which you brought up, I might remind you.

[aj:06]: Well, yeah. It's just that she's got a chip on her shoulder the size of Everest-

[v:06]: Well… she may not be wrong for having it.

[aj:07]: Hm.

[v:07]: But that is what I speak of. You have made your complaints about the City well-known. She has many of your same complaints. I would think out of everyone, you two would see eye-to-eye.

[aj:08]: But my pants aren't fancy.

[v:08]: … What?

[aj:09]: She thinks I have fancy pants.

[v:09]: You have shock-absorbing kneepads-

[aj:10]: Not literally!

[v:10]: Then what in Oryx's name are you on about?

[aj:11]: She already thinks she's better than me. She's seen I'm a Guardian and she thinks she knows everything about me.

[v:11]: Many Guardians have egos. You still fight alongside them.

[aj:12]: Yeah, but we don't get along.

[v:12]: You do not need to be her friend. We just need to cooperate.

[v:13]: The fate of Humanity is at stake.

[aj:13]: Fine, I'll stow it. Just be warned.

[aj:14]: Eventually one of us is going to get pissed at the other and it'll all be downhill from there.

* * *

Twelve days after the attack; The Salt Mines; Trostland, European Dead Zone, Earth 

The open air was nice after the salt mines. Azra still had a slight dislike of caves, even after all of the years since the Vault. The two Guardians made their hasty way towards the summit. They'd scared the Fallen off for the time being, but neither was confident the aliens wouldn't return.

Hawthorne was happy to see them, or at least happy to see the signal booster. Veera stayed close, watching as the mortal booted up the system. Azra walked towards the dropoff and considered the view. It had taken them a few hours to fight their way through the mines and now they were getting into 'late afternoon' territory. The sun turned every reflective surface to gilt. The Arc storms from the Shard flickered in the distance. Azra figured come nightfall the sight would be very eerie.

Thoughts of the future turned her mood sour again. _So, we set up the comms network_ , she mused. _What next? Consolidate the evacuation efforts, of course. Then?_

 _We hope the Vanguard gets in touch_ , Spark replied.

_We can't sit around waiting for them. It's been almost two weeks._

_That's not a lot._

_It's been enough. Every day the Cabal get stronger and our chances narrow. I don't want to look up one day and realize we've been digging our own graves while waiting for someone to tell us what to do._

_What should we do, then?_

Azra was at a complete loss. Behind her, Veera and Suraya muttered to each other. Veera would certainly want to retake the City, but it was not something she could do alone. Azra didn't know Hawthorne well enough to bet on her intentions, but she hadn't seemed too enthusiastic so far at the mention of reclamation efforts.

And Azra- she was no leader. And she could fight until the sun died in the sky, but without a real plan forward she'd be accomplish nothing. And without the Vanguard, who would lead the way forward? Azra tried to imagine herself in a command position and was hit with an incredible pang of loneliness.

And then surprise. It seemed Hawthorne had finally gotten the network up. That was _Zavala's_ voice coming out of the comms device.

"Guardians: The City is lost. If there is any light left in the system, we rally on Titan. Be brave."

She turned and stared at Veera, stunned. The Warlock looked elated. "Guess that solves _our_ dilemma," Spark said aloud.

Veera's Ghost spun in excitement. "Zavala's alive! If we leave now, we-"

"You are NOT going to Titan." Hawthorne slammed her hand down on the comms panel. Azra jumped a little bit. She hadn't been watching the Human woman. Suraya was angry. "We've got refugees coming in, the Red Legion on one side, the Fallen on the other-"

"But we have our powers back!" Ghost interrupted. "And if we're going to retake the City-"

"Your City is _gone_ ," Suraya spat.

That stung. Spark remarked in that Veera looked hurt.

Well, if Hawthorne wanted to take the kid gloves off and get down to the harsh realities, Azra could play along. She hadn't realized she'd been moving towards Hawthorne until she was in the woman's face, nearly _growling_.

"You honestly think you can hold the Farm forever?" She was gratified to see surprise in Hawthorne's eyes- Suraya hadn't considered her aggressive. Azra tried to keep her voice cool. "You've got civilians, a bunch of Lightless Guardians, and a bare handful of Militia who can handle themselves in a firefight. You think you can keep the Red Legion at bay long-term, when the whole force of the City and its walls couldn't?"

Hawthorne looked ready to argue back, but Azra gave her no opportunity. "Face the facts, Suraya. You're living in the middle of a _Dead Zone_. The only reason you're all still alive is because the Red Legion hasn't really paid attention to you yet. They're focused on the Traveler. As soon as they get that figured out, you're all finished. They're not gonna just let bygones be bygones and allow you to continue _existing_. They'll bring their bombers, and warships, and their tanks, and they will roll right over you. You can run and hide all you want, but if we don't act now, Humanity's done for. Even if both of us stay. There was a reason we built walls."

Now was Hawthorne's turn to look stunned. _Perhaps you could have said that in a kinder tone of voice,_ Spark murmured. _She started it,_ Azra sniped back.

Oh, she knew she would regret this tomorrow when she had a full night's sleep (or whatever passed for one these days). So Azra pinched the bridge of her nose and let it go. "Here's what we'll do. Veera, you go to Titan. Set up the comms there so we can communicate. I'll hang back here and keep the Dead Zone from falling to shambles. Once you figure out the situation there, we can make better plans."

"You can't just leave," Hawthorne protested. "The people here _need_ you."

"They may need me now," Veera said, sounding fearfully regretful, "but next week they will need Commander Zavala. And we will need the Speaker and the Traveler. The Light is a potent tool. We cannot defend this system without it."

Azra crossed her arms and raised her chin in challenge. "I will work to keep the Farm safe and supplied _until_ we free the Traveler and take back the City. But I will not do it _instead of_."

Hawthorne's expression had turned stony. "Fat lot of help you Guardians have been. You know where to find me," she muttered. She grabbed her rifle and pushed past Azra, anger bleeding into all of her motions. Azra was set to follow until Veera grabber her arm.

"Wait," the Warlock said softly. "You know better than that."

Azra deflated. "Yeah. I guess I do. It's… so many people are depending on us, and she just wants to throw away the City?"

"You feel guilty," Veera observed.

Truth. "I'd love for that to be the future," Azra said. "This planet is our home. I'd be in joy if the people didn't need to stay cooped up behind walls. But that's just not going to ride. Everyone'll die."

"This has been difficult for everybody," Veera said. "Give her time. And give yourself time."

"I'm always quick on the uptake. I'll be fine." Azra cast a glance back at the horizon, the sun slowly getting lower. "We'll muddle along somehow. Humanity's at stake, after all."

"How do you do this?" Veera asked. "She was right. People need me here. How can I just leave?"

"You don't leave," Azra said. "You _go_."

* * *

_"You know..." Shiro said evenly, "I miss you, but don't you dare let me shackle you with regret now. Too much is at stake. You need to go West? Go West. I'm the last person in the world who's going to tell you to stop."_

_Azra let the tension go. "I guess we'll have to wait and see what the future holds. Zavala's supposed to be out there, somewhere, rallying."_

_"I'll keep an ear out for that," Shiro said. "And take care of yourself. I want you back in one piece."_

* * *

"Set your eyes on Titan," Azra encouraged. "Focus on what's ahead. Don't tie yourself down here."

"It may be too late for that," the Warlock muttered.

"It's never too late," Azra said in reassurance. She frowned when Veera looked _stricken_ by that.

So Azra pulled her into a hug. The Hunter tried to memorize everything about her comrade- she shape of her arms, the smell of her hair, the cool brush of her cheek. Her light was singeing. Ozone and neon shop lights on the wet street, the taste of iron and ash. Veera had her Light. Both of them had their Light now, but nothing was guaranteed. This might be the last time Azra ever saw her.

 _This is not new_ , Spark whispered. And Azra had to admit that truth. This wasn't the first time she'd said goodbye to Veera. This wasn't even the first time she'd looked extinction in the eye.

Veera pulled back, but Azra grabbed her firmly by the shoulders. "Promise me," she said. "You won't feel bad. We will need this."

"Only if you promise me you'll stay in one piece," Veera said wryly.

"I'll do my damndest," Azra said. She wasn't in the habit of saying things she couldn't guarantee. "Be fast. And be brave."

Veera's ship sailed down from orbit. "Be brave yourself," the Warlock said.

"How are you going to get back?" Her Ghost asked.

"We don't usually leave our ships in the City Hangar," Spark replied. "There's a couple in orbit we can contact now with the system up."

Azra shrugged. "Or maybe I'll walk back. Who knows. It's a nice day." Anything to give Hawthorne more time to cool off. Azra wasn't looking forward to their next conversation.

"I'll be back," Veera said. "I'll bring the Vanguard. This will all be over soon." She was so confident, so full of Light and hope, that Azra believed her. Then, with an informal salute and a small cloud of dust, she was gone. Just like that.


	10. Wrong on Purpose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long hiatus. Not going to lie, this chapter was very hard. I re-wrote the entire thing at least five times. I'm still not completely happy with it, but it's time we moved on.

I've spent a lifetime listening to the whispers  
Always try to heed my second mind  
Never done nobody wrong on purpose  
But I've come mighty close a couple of times

The Reckless Side of Me - The SteelDrivers

* * *

May 22, 2957 (fifteen days after the attack); Trostland, EDZ, Earth

The Guardian's Ghost at least had the common sense to ping the radio before they got too close. Devrim wasn't expecting company. If he hadn't known better, he might have set off some explosives when his proximity alarms tripped. (Not that it would have stopped a Guardian for long, but it did save him a few shrapnel grenades. Ordinance was in short supply in the EDZ.)

Devrim didn't get visitors much. When he got the ping, he thought to tidy up a little, but there wasn't too much he could do in such a short time. He cleared the clutter off of a couple of crates and dragged a table in between them. He put a few of the sharper objects where they wouldn't be a danger to anyone.

Then Azra was there. "Devrim?" she called from outside the building, proper cautious. Out of all of the Guardians Devrim had worked with, the Hunters were the most careful. Not that Devrim would shoot a person on instinct, but he appreciated the thought.

"I'm up here," he replied.

The ramp creaked under her weight. She was up it in a few long strides. Devrim leaned his rifle against the wall carefully. The Hunter was lightly caked in dust but otherwise seemed unharmed. She clutched a small metal tea box in her hands almost anxiously.

"What brings you to my office today?" Devrim asked. "Sorry for the clutter. I wasn't expecting visitors."

"I wanted to talk," she said. "You know Suraya Hawthorne, don't you?"

"You could say that," Devrim demurred. "I only raised her. What's on your mind?"

Azra moved across the room and sat on one of the crates with a careful deliberation. Her Ghost transmatted the helmet straight off of her head. Her face wasn't Guardian-perfect, he'd noticed before; she had a small scar on her chin and another just cutting off the end of her right eyebrow. Devrim thought to ask about them- but no. The Guardian clearly had a lot on her mind already.

She leaned her elbows on her knees and spoke a confession. "I think Hawthorne hates me. Worse… I think I hate her back." She turned the teabox over in her hands.

"What happened this time," Devrim said in exasperation. Suraya had never been the easiest person to get along with. She tended to rub people the wrong way, at least at first.

"I'm not here to vent," Azra said. She popped the lid off and back on to the box in a fidget. "I just… I wanted some advice. Maybe." She was the picture of humility: downcast eyes, quiet and shy. Yet there was an air of stubborn tenacity around her, the kind that only came from conviction. Devrim had to admit, it reminded him of Suraya.

For a moment, he looked at the Guardian in front of him and did not see the 100-year-old immortal space warrior. He saw a young, anxious woman. It was very natural to offer help. "This sounds like a conversation best had over a nice cuppa."

Azra held the tea box out without another word. Devrim took it, popped the lid, and took an inquisitive sniff. It was some herbal mix: surprisingly aromatic with an almost spicy scent. Devrim didn't recognize it.

"Wild Bee Balm," the Hunter offered. "I know it's not the good stuff. It's a lot better fresh, but I haven't had time to forage. I don't even have time to sit here and talk, really."

"It is _teatime_ ," Devrim declared. "We all need to sit and have time to breathe once in a while. Even in a warzone." Especially with matters like this. They didn't need anyone rushing to conclusions.

The Hunter simply shrugged. Devrim rattled about, gathering two mostly-intact cups (his saucers, sadly, were all chipped), putting water in the electric kettle to boil, and measuring out the tea. Azra sat on her crate and seemed to be trying to relax. She stared out of the window with an unusual intensity.

Finally, when the tea was steeping and Devrim had dug up his supply of biscuits, the Hunter spoke. "You have to promise not to tell her." Azra had pushed back her hood and taken off her gloves, revealing a comical case of hat-hair and a pair of scarred hands. "I don't want her thinking I went behind her back- she seems the type to get offended by tattletaleing."

"You have that correct," Devrim said. "And not to fear- nothing leaves this room."

The Hunter sighed and sat up straighter. "There's been a mistake, somewhere," she said gravely. "I just… it's obvious she looks at me and sees someone else. And I hate that. I really, really hate that."

"She underestimates you," Devrim guessed. His timer chimed, so he set about pouring the tea.

"It's more than that. I can deal with… underestimation. I know my limits." She took the cup that Devrim offered, wrapping her hands around the porcelain. "It… irks me that she thinks I'm so… vain. Shortsighted."

"Have you told her?" Devrim asked. It was astounding how many social issues could be solved simply by communicating.

The Hunter snorted and blew on her tea. "Oh yeah, I'm sure that will go over well. 'Hey Suraya, I know you think I'm an egotistical idiot, but I'm not!' Like that's not something an egotistical idiot would say."

"You don't give her enough credit," Devrim chided. "She may be stubborn, but she tries to be open-minded."

"You really think it would go over well?" Azra asked. She frowned and tapped her fingernails on the side of her cup. "Seems to me like it would sound like an insult. Though I guess she insults _me_ enough."

"You're going to have to speak with her about this at some point," Devrim reasoned. "The best time would have been when you first started having issues. She appreciates directness. But the second-best time is always the present."

"I just don't know what to say," Azra exclaimed. "It's not going to be a 'hey, you think I'm dumb, I'm not' conversation. That's not what's bothering me, not really. I'm fine with her thinking I'm an idiot-"

Her Ghost appeared to interrupt her. "No, you're not."

The Hunter pushed him aside. "Fine. I can _deal_ with her thinking I'm an idiot. A lot of people don't know me, for all I try to be honest. It shouldn't be on me to prove her wrong. It's just… she can be…"

Azra paused for a long second, lips twisting in a grimace as she searched for the right word. "Harsh," she finally settled on. "And a little cruel. And if I go and say she shouldn't treat me so harshly because I'm not who she thinks I am, then I'm saying she'd be right to treat me that way if I _were_ that person."

Devrim thought on that for a few moments and sipped his tea. To his surprise, it was quite good indeed. It reminded him of a strong Earl Gray, if just a bit too bitter. "What exactly do you mean by 'harsh'?" he finally asked.

"She's constantly rubbing in my face how the City's fallen and how people are dying. Like I don't know that. I can't think of how to say this without sounding incredibly shallow, but she's constantly belittling me. It's like she thinks every Guardian is a bumbling idiot who only knows which end of a gun is which because they've shot themselves in the face a few times." They'd hit some sensitive spot. The Hunter spoke with passion. "If I even mention I'm thirsty she'll take the opportunity to tell me not to drink unfiltered river water or Taken goop. I _get it_. It's frustrating to work with people who don't respect the world you live in. Lots of Guardians haven't had to spend extended time in the wilds. But the fifth time she tells me not to eat poisonous berries I have to stop taking it as a reminder and start taking it as an insult."

"It's a big job, looking after you all," Devrim said. "I think she'd feel very responsible if one of you died a preventable death on her watch. Don't take for malice what can be explained by forgetfulness."

"I guess," Azra said. It was clear that explanation didn't sit quite right with her. Devrim poured himself another cup of tea. Azra brooded over her half-finished one in silence.

"I think that might be what bugs me the most," Azra said after a long pause. "She acts like I'm stupid for putting myself in harm's way. Like I don't know the world is dangerous. I don't need constant reminders of how doomed we are."

"You may have your Light back," Devrim said carefully, "but most of your colleagues do not. And yet they still fight like they cannot die. You're not free from blame, either. You're important. We can't afford to lose you, not now."

"I'm… I suppose I'm not used to that," Azra murmured. "I don't think I like being important. Time was, the only people I had to worry about were me and my Pack. I couldn't hurt anyone else, not really."

"Time was you didn't have to consider your own mortality," Devrim said. "And now all of you Guardians must."

"What?" the Hunter said, flat confusion.

"I imagine part of Hawthorne's… brusqueness comes from the fact that her job is to keep alive a group of people who haven't processed yet the fact that they can die. Every mortal, when we contemplate our life, must inevitably consider the end. That fearlessness, that Guardian belief that you will live forever, is a great strength when it's actually true. Now that you all are mortal, it's dangerous."

"We know what it means to die," Azra protested.

"But not what it means to _end_."

Azra set down her cup pointedly. "I know it better than you. How any times have I lay there bleeding out, not sure if there's enough Light for a rez? There's been more than a handful of times I've been brought back surprised to be alive again. I've come to terms with the idea of going down and not getting back up again."

"You jump in without a second thought," Devrim said, stunned. "That's patently insane. If not from ignorance- why? Doesn't it bother you?"

"There are other things that bother me a lot more," Azra replied nonchalantly.

Devrim settled back on his crate with a frown. "I can't imagine. I served in the Militia for decades. I retired, once upon a time, because I couldn't keep doing that- risking my life, that is. There were too many important things I'd be leaving behind." How could he justify making Marc a widower? Leaving Suraya with yet another dead parent?

There was a long pause as Azra mulled over his words. The faint sounds of warfare echoed in the distance- the pops of Fallen weaponry and Cabal artillery. Devrim had almost forgotten he wasn't in his apartment, having a theoretical discussion about philosophy.

"You want to know about Twilight Gap?" The Hunter finally said. "Twilight Gap was the first time anyone had ever died for me." Her eyes were unfocused, like she was looking at something far away. "It was late, right before that worst night when the Wall fell. My group and I we were in a bad position. Ambushed. The Fallen dropped a tank right on top of us. This Firebreak commander- his name was Miles-4- he stayed behind to buy us time out. And he died."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Devrim offered. "You mentioned before that you were young then. It must have been terrifying."

Azra just shrugged. "I always knew I was going to die young," she said. "Heck, Twilight Gap wasn't the first time I almost bit the bullet. Was far from the last. But it was the first time I was made to consider what an impact my death could have. I'm only alive because of his sacrifice." She looked down into her teacup. "Everyone I've ever saved owes him their life, too."

It wasn't every day a Guardian talked at length about mortality like this. Devrim sipped his tea and let the Hunter ramble on.

"You have to weigh the costs and the benefits. I mean, you can never know for certain what you're getting yourself into. But you have to look at the risk, every time, and decide whether it's worth it. I wouldn't be alive if Miles-4 hadn't decided that I was worth the price. I wouldn't be alive if I hadn't decided that some things _aren't_ worth it. It's a dangerous world. But at this point... you do the math so many times, the choice isn't hard. I know what my life is worth. When the time comes, I'm not going to hesitate."

"You are worth more than just yourself, now," Devrim said. "When you risk your life to disrupt an Ether drop, you risk all of our futures."

"I guess I resent that a little," the Hunter admitted. "It's frustrating to feel like people I've never met have such a say in my life."

Devrim leaned forward. "You may not see it, but all of the other Guardians, the Militia, they look up to you. You're an inspiration. And hope is rather hard to come by, nowadays. It's not a good thing to be so casual with your life."

"Maybe not." The Hunter finished her tea with one long swig and set the cup back on the table. "I'll… think about that. It's a lot easier to forget about other people's hope when you might not see tomorrow yourself."

"Dying is one thing, and for all of my years of service, I'll admit I've never come as close as you have," Devrim said. "But I know this: living is a powerful thing as well."

"Saladin had some saying," Azra murmured. "What was it? Dead hands don't build walls?"

"Precisely."

Azra sighed and looked out the window. "Hawthorne's still not right, though. Insisting that we only risk things because we don't understand the price, it's patronizing. We're not children. And even if we were, she doesn't have to be so mean about it."

"Then talk to her," Devrim urged. "As soon as you can. I know she's too worried about you to see how she's discouraging you. Even if your personalities clash, surely you can come to an understanding."

"We'll try," her Ghost promised. There was companionable silence for a few minutes.

Devrim waited until he finished his cup to speak. "The tea is quite good," he said, "though it could use some sugar."

"Aw, man," Azra said animatedly. "I feel like I haven't seen sugar in _months_. What I wouldn't do for some maple candy right about now. If it weren't almost June..."

"I'll keep my eyes peeled," Devrim said. "Who knows what could turn up in some of these supply shipments? We salvaged one yesterday that had nothing but decorative lawn ornaments."

"Is… is that why there's like forty garden gnomes at the Farm now?" Azra asked. "I just assumed they were teleporting in from the Ascendant plane. Those things are cursed, I swear."

Devrim chuckled and elected to not inform her of the gnome he'd propped up in the corner. "They are rather creepy, aren't they? Thank you for the tea."

"Thanks for the advice," Azra replied, lifting her cup in a little salute.

* * *

The Night of May 22, 2957 (fifteen days after the attack); The Farm, EDZ, Earth

It never got very dark at the Farm, and tonight was no exception. Between all of the lamps scattered about and the full moon it was easy to see. Azra could clearly make the outlines of the various ramshackle buildings. Further on was a tent city that housed most of the Guardian forces. Beyond that was the Farm's tiny airfield.

Beyond that, the Shard. It had a subtle luminescence around it. It would be drowned by the midday sun, but under the dim moon it drew the eye. The eternal lightning storm that clung to its base flickered sporadically. Small chunks of it spun slowly through the air. The shadows they casted were sharp, seemingly unaffected by the softening effects of erosion.

It looked downright unearthly. It _was_ unearthly, Azra had to remind herself. The Traveler had been around as long as she could remember, but it was still inherently alien. This wasn't how the Earth used to be. A time traveler from hundreds of years ago would be appalled. Even if Humanity won and kicked all of its enemies out of the solar system, the biosphere had been heavily impacted by the Collapse and Humanity's struggle to survive. Azra was used to the idea that things would never be the same as they were, but it was still sad. She loved the Earth.

It was these despairing thoughts that were occupying her mind when Suraya found her. Hawthorne was quiet, but she wasn't that quiet. The roof creaked even under her careful footsteps.

"I suppose we should talk," Azra muttered to the air. She really didn't _want_ to. It had seemed like such a good idea in the light of day. Surely it would be simpler to just keep her head down and keep moving.

(The talk was inevitable, she had to remind herself. The only thing to decide was whether it happened now, in the calm and private, or in the middle of a mission when she lost her temper.)

"Devrim said you wanted to see me," Hawthorne began. She paused for a second. "Are you planning to sleep up here? You have a room, you know."

Whoops, she'd seen the sleeping bag. Azra had spent every night on the roof so far, but she usually packed away her things at dawn. "I don't like sleeping indoors," she said simply. "I told you to not bother."

Hawthorne put her hands on her hips. "You have a lot of people looking out for you, you know. Every person I talked to about sleeping arrangements wanted to make sure you and Veera were taken care of first. Do you know of how much flak I am going to get when people find out you've been sleeping on the roof?"

"I know how to be discreet," Azra said. "And I've made my choice. You might as well give the bed to someone who'll use it."

This wasn't good. Not thirty seconds in and this was already an argument. "What point are you trying to prove?" Hawthorne accused. "Nobody's going to take that room from you, and we need you rested."

"I don't like sleeping indoors," Azra repeated, frustration bleeding through into her inflection. "If you need me rested, let me stay out here or make camp somewhere." She hunched her shoulders and kept her eyes fixed firmly on the horizon. "This isn't even what I wanted to talk about."

Hawthorne sighed, her own frustration evident. "I just got back. It's late. Can't it wait until morning?"

"It _cannot_ ," Azra said. A second later she regretted the heat in her voice. She couldn't afford to get angry. The situation was volatile enough as it was.

Hawthorne paused. "It can't, huh?" Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

"Damn it, just sit down and let me talk," Azra spat. She took a few deep breaths of the night air, forcing down the frustration. All it did was reduce her anger to a low boil. She'd been dismissing her feelings long enough that all the breathing exercises in the world couldn't keep them away.

Hawthorne, to her credit, did move down the roof and sit. Unlike Azra, who sat perched on the edge with both feet dangling, Suraya sat a bit back and stretched her legs out in front of her.

* * *

_Azra sighed and settled a comfortable distance away on the cliff's edge._

_They sat in silence for a few minutes. Azra picked at loose threads and sharp edges on her gear. Turns out taking on four Barons in hand-to-hand combat could leave one a little dented._

_"There's a little shack 'bout a quarter mile from here," Tevis finally said. Why was the shack relevant? Was it a response to her rain comment? Was it some sort of peace offering? Did he want to take this conversation inside? With Tevis, it could be hard to know. It was always meaning within meaning._

_"Can we speak plain?" Azra asked. "This is… confusing enough without all the double-triple speak."_

* * *

Azra probably should have planned out her speech, or at least written down a few talking points. She wasn't good with strangers. "I… don't like lying," she began.

"Uh-huh," Hawthorne replied, skeptical.

"My God, Hawthorne, just because I keep my mouth shut doesn't mean I don't have _feelings_ ," Azra said. "I can go without the mocking for just a few minutes."

"If you have a problem with me, I'd rather you just come out and say it," Suraya said. "I don't have time for this two-faced drama."

"What the hell do you think I'm _doing_?" Azra spat.

Hawthorne didn't reply.

Azra wished she had something to do with her hands. She fidgeted restlessly, picking at a torn seam in her pants. "I don't want… a fight. This is so difficult because I can't afford to just _not care_. People are depending on us. I've got a job, you've got a job, and it's obvious we don't like each other very much so I'd rather just get on with it with no hard feelings." She gathered her courage and said the next words very deliberately. "But you are making it very hard not to hate you."

" _Hate_ me?" Hawthorne sounded offended. Not good. "What did _I_ ever do? Besides save your life."

Azra looked at Suraya in confusion. "The Farm's been really helpful, but 'saving my life' might be pushing it. There some rescue mission I'm forgetting?"

"You couldn't have gotten your Light back without us," Hawthorne said. "I know you're used to being immortal and all, but if you think you could have made it all the way to Portugal without starving, you're delusional."

Azra was speechless. "What?"

"You never even said thank you for the ship and the supplies. You take everything for granted." Hawthorne crossed her arms resolutely. "That's _my_ problem with _you_. Most of us have had to go without the Light our whole lives and now that the rest of you have to experience it, you won't stop _complaining_. You fight like you're still immortal. One day you'll have to wake up and face the reality that the rest of us have been living." Hawthorne eyed Azra up and down. "Or most of you will."

"Who do you think I _am_?" Azra asked.

"Oh, the Kingslayer can't stand a little criticism?" Hawthorne jibed. "Yeah, I looked you up. Lots of big deeds and fancy titles. I hate to break it to you, you're not invincible. Without the Light, you were just like the rest of us."

Azra couldn't help it- she burst out laughing. It was just so absurd. She'd been dreading this talk all day and she hadn't expected anything like this. No-one had ever accused her of being a narcissist before.

The laughter went on embarrassingly long. Azra tried to stifle it, but every time she thought she'd calmed down, another giggle would escape. By the time she'd managed to get her humor under control, Hawthorne's face was red in anger and it was far too late.

Suraya stood. "You know what? I thought we could actually do this," she said. "I thought we could put aside the ego for once. But losing your Light taught you nothing. You're just like all of the other Guardians, running around with no consideration for the people you're stepping on."

"I'm sorry," Azra said, doing her best to sound earnest.

"No, you're not," Hawthorne said. "We're done. Go ahead and hate me. I don't care."

"Hawthorne," Azra snapped, but the woman was already hoisting herself into the rafters.

_We're not letting it end like that, are we?_ Spark asked.

No, they weren't. Azra scrambled to follow.

She was too late. Azra heard the window slam as she lowered herself from the eaves. The window was only a few feet down, but the windowsill had been broken or rotted off at some point. Azra found precarious footholds, jamming her toes into gaps in the siding, and freed a hand to try to slide the pane open.

No dice. Locked. Azra pressed her face up to the glass, but Hawthorne had drawn some sort of curtain over it. Azra rattled the window frame a little more obviously. "Hawthorne? I didn't mean to laugh. Really. Can we just talk?"

There was no sound of movement on the other side of the wall. Azra shifted her position, trying to find a more steady perch. "I want this to work out. But I can't if you won't even listen to me."

_You shouldn't have laughed_ , Spark thought. It wasn't a scolding, it was just a statement.

_I was trying not to lose my temper_ , Azra responded. _It took me by surprise_. She rattled the window frame again. Still no response. Azra pushed herself free from the house and dropped lightly to the ground.

She checked inside, though she knew what she'd find. The trapdoor to Hawthorne's attic was as locked as the window. Azra rapped her knuckles on it loudly, but there was no response. Azra hung on to the stepladder for a moment, trying to think of what to do.

"In the morning, then," she decided aloud. Hawthorne was right. They were both tired. Maybe with a new day Azra could start over.

She returned to the roof to retrieve her sleeping bag, then dropped back down to ground level so she could enter the barnhouse through the front entrance. She stomped her way over to the room she'd been assigned and slammed the door behind her.

The last time she'd slept on a mattress had been two years ago at the Reef. Still, she draped her cloak over the foot of the single bed and settled down with a sigh.

It was a long night of staring at the ceiling. Azra tried, but she did not sleep.

* * *

The next morning found Azra bleary-eyed and drooping. She stifled yawns as she prepped her gear for the day and snuck bites of instant oatmeal. People gave her a berth. She'd spent the whole night stewing and even the freshness of the morning couldn't lift her spirits.

Hawthorne found her as she was cleaning her Scout Rifle. The mortal took in Azra's scruffy and exhausted appearance with a critical eye. "I told you the roof was a bad idea," she said dryly. Hawthorne, at least, seemed to be in a good mood.

Azra was not. "Didn't sleep on the roof," she muttered. "I was in the room. Didn't sleep there, either, but…" she shrugged, not caring to complete the thought.

Hawthorne looked ready to say something, but Azra cut in. "I'm going to recalibrate the relay today," she declared. "See if we can't get enough range to get in contact with Titan. People have managed to pull plenty of cache locations off of dead Ghosts, and some Hunters besides have offered theirs up for the common good. I'll clear out as many of those as I can too, get some better gear for our people."

Hawthorne didn't look amicable to the idea. "Who knows if the caches are still there?" she said. "And what could have moved in since the City fell? You should stay in the EDZ."

"If we can link up from some of the systems in the Cosmodrome, it'll give us enough power to reach the outer system," Azra said.

Hawthorne held up her hands. "The _Cosmodrome_?" The tone of her voice said _Are you crazy?_

Azra slid the last piece into place and loaded her gun. "Yup. There's a few Golden-Age arrays I know. Shouldn't take more than a couple of hours."

"Were you even listening to what I was just saying?" Hawthorne exclaimed. "The Cosmodrome is bound to be overrun with Fallen."

"I know," Azra said. "It's nothing I can't handle."

"You-"

Azra's temper snapped. She slammed her palms down on the table. "Dammit, Hawthorne. I'm not an idiot. I've been doing this all of my life." She met the mortal's hard gaze with her own. "Why should I take your advice on this when you won't even listen to me?"

Hawthorne's face was red. "This isn't a contest. You're going to get yourself killed."

There were people looking their way now. Azra spoke low and fast, feeling the frustration boiling in her chest. "I don't _care_ if you think I can't handle the Cosmodrome. I _know_ I can handle the Cosmodrome."

Hawthorne crossed her arms. "As long as you're living at my Farm, eating my food, you're under my command."

"Fuck that," Azra said emphatically. "You want your supplies back? Take 'em."

Spark wasn't happy, but at Azra's mental demand he transmatted the various foodstuffs and ammunition the Farm had given them onto the ground. Azra ejected the magazine from her Scout Rifle and dropped it on top of the pile.

Hawthorne looked appalled and opened her mouth. Azra gestured viciously, cutting the mortal off again. "You think I'm just a tool that you can use? You need me to prove to you that I'm not some conceited, brainless Kinderguardian that goes around eating mushrooms and drinking pond water? Fine. I don't need your food or your _advice_ or your goddamn _stuffy rooms_."

_You're yelling_ , Spark warned. It was true. Azra's heart was thrumming in her chest. She could feel the heat of anger in her face. But she was past the point of caring. "I'll check in when I stop for lunch," she said. "Don't expect me before then. Or after."

She flicked her cape in a dismissive gesture and stalked off towards her ship. If Hawthorne called after her, she didn't listen for it.


End file.
